


The One Where None of Them Are Ski Jumpers

by theflyingzimmergaudi



Category: Ski Jumping RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - no ski jumping, Angst, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, all the guys are the same undefined nationality, and occasional, everyone's a little gay for kamil, except for fannis who's a little gay for everyone, loosely inspired by the TV show Friends, more tags and relationships tba, with some
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-06-18 06:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflyingzimmergaudi/pseuds/theflyingzimmergaudi
Summary: A ‘no ski jumping’ alternative universe in which Johann is not a happy bunny, Kamil has daddy issues (not in a kinky way), Richi needs to get laid asap, Robert is a strong independent man who can be his own boss, Fannis is confused, Kenny has terrible coping mechanisms, Danny hasn’t got a worry in the world (maybe), Andi is happy being single, Michi is thirsty and Krafti’s milkshake brings all the girls to the yard.(A series of longish drabbles with a vague plotline.)





	1. The Pilot: Johann (1.1)

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank enough my beta and bff @[Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose) who's quite the writer herself and @[marsilainen](http://marsilainen.tumblr.com/) (on Tumblr) for always encouraging and inspiring me. If it wasn't for them, I would never have written and published this silly little AU. I hope it makes you laugh! 
> 
> I posted the first four sub-chapters on Tumblr, a massive thank you to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged and commented! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's definitely been a day for poor Johann.

Johann is mad.

For most people, it was probably going to be just another Friday; go to work or uni, do what you gotta do to survive through the day, stop by the grocery store on your way home to get the essentials for a night out with your friends or a cosy movie night in with your sweetheart, and whatever happens after that can be blamed on the spur of the moment. For Johann, however, this Friday was supposed to be a game changer; he was going to go to uni, do what he’s gotta do to survive through his classes, stop by the grocery store on his way home to get the essentials for a romantic picnic with his sweetheart in their favourite hideout on a cliff by The Western Peaks – a destination for many of their bicycle trips for the past five years. He would pack a basket with a bottle of red wine and the truffles he knows are Selena’s favourites, and Selena would show up with self-baked cupcakes and a fluffy blanket. Johann would wear his oversized duffelcoat, which he would eventually put around Selena’s shoulders because she always forgets to bring an extra jumper for when it gets colder (although by now they both know this has nothing to do with her memory). In many ways this picnic would not differ from any of the ones they’ve had before, safe for one detail; in the left front pocket of that duffel jacket, Johann would put a small box covered in sapphire blue velvet, and inside the box there would be a silver band about the circumference of Selena’s left ring finger with a polished aquamarine stone – plain, but it was the best Johann could afford with his coffee shop barista salary combined with what was left of his savings after he bought his new bike last fall. At approximately five minutes to 7 PM, when the sun paints the sky with the most beautiful shades of red, pink and purple before it sets below the horizon, Johann would wrap his left arm around his girlfriend, reach for the pocket where the box awaits, pull it out in front of her, gently open it, and ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

But now he can’t. Not this Friday anyway.

Because this Friday, someone has stolen his fucking bike.

His bike, a beautiful white SJ Planica 7000 that cost him three quarters of the money he got from his family for graduating high school and twelve months of living on noodles, just so that he could quickly transport between uni, work, Selena’s place and his apartment. His reliable companion that had took him to numerous beautiful photographing locations for both uni and leisure and to countless unforgettable hangouts with his favourite person in the world. It was the latest model too, because his friend Andreas, who works at the local Bike & Hike, simply would not let him leave the store with any of the more affordable options because _“the whole fucking 6000-series is practically straight outta Toys“R”Us“_ and _“don’t worry, mate, you can buy it on hire purchase”_.

Now it was gone.

Well, most of it anyway. The thief had been considerate (or evil, depending on the way you look at it) enough to leave the entire front wheel right where Johann had parked it the night before, still attached to the bike rack with a strong U-lock. The rest of the vehicle is nowhere to be seen.

He was already going to be late from his first class (thanks to his flatmate Robert who occupied their shared bathroom for half an hour this morning) and just yesterday he had had agreed to have his working time at the coffee shop extended by two hours so that he could start saving for the wedding (he was that sure she would say yes, and his girl deserves better than what he could afford with the solid 5,75 that he currently has on his savings account), meaning he had to get himself from uni to work in fifteen minutes instead of thirty every day starting on Monday, which was most certainly not going to happen without a bicycle. Neither was the wedding for that matter, because he had been planning this proposal not for weeks, but _months_ , and now it was all ruined.

Upset, frustrated and most of all angry, he does what his instinct always tells him to do when something unexpectable happens: he texts Selena.

 

As Johann is trying to figure out how to make a report of an offence online, a FedEx truck slows down in the bus stop in front of his apartment building. He doesn’t look up until he sees the delivery guy leading a white SJ Planica 7000 out of the back of the truck and proceeding towards the front door of the building.

“That’s my bike!”

The delivery guy turns to face Johann. “You are Mr. Stoch?”

“Wha-, no, why do you have my bike?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but this delivery is for Mr. Stoch. Do you know him? This is 52 Ferry Street, right?”

Johann takes a few deep breaths and tries his best to get his head around the latest turn of events. He takes another look at the bike and sees that it’s missing the two-inch scratch on the right side of the crossbar from when it fell on a large rock once on one of those bicycle picnics with Selena, and the bell is shiny silver whereas his was black. As much as Johann would’ve wanted it to be his bike, it was evident that it wasn’t.

“Yeah, he’s my neighbour,” he mumbles, not even bothering to make an effort to hide the bitterness in his voice. Torn between grabbing the bike from the delivery guy and run for it and wanting to slash its tyres with a knife, Johann ignores the man’s enquiries of  _ Mr. Stoch’s _ whereabouts and turns to walk to the side of the road to wait for the next piss-smelling bus to take him to campus. Trying to live up to his girlfriend’s life advice to always look on the bright side of things, Johann doesn’t think his mood could possibly get any worse.

He’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Alternative title for ch. 1: The One With Johann's Bike
> 
> 2\. The chapter amount (20) is an optimistic estimate. I really have no idea how many chapters I'll write. This first chapter will consist of ten sub-chapters, one focusing on each main character.
> 
> 3\. As you probably noticed, I have changed some names of a few real life people because of reasons.
> 
> 4\. [Here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1l73s3S-qZ_VqPMrKMKHXpa1CucgpBfGj/view?usp=sharing)'s a slideshow for this fic where you can read a little about all the characters, but beware minor spoilers! Also, most of the minor characters will NOT appear in these first ten chapters.
> 
> Come say hi to me on Tumblr: @[theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	2. The Pilot: Kamil (1.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loves Kamil. 
> 
> ...Well, almost everyone.

What is the one question people most frequently ask Kamil regarding his lifestyle?

It’s not _“How did a total nerd like you hit the jackpot with the embodiment of a Greek goddess that is Eve Berkowich?”_ (Kamil doesn’t know either.) Nor is it _“Why does an international airline captain live in a shared apartment with a barber and a university student when his salary is big enough to maintain a three-floor log house by the water in the countryside or at least a penthouse apartment downtown, surely?”_ (Because it’s fun, and while Eve’s job in another city is currently keeping them from taking their relationship to the next level, sharing the domestic experience with Richi and Andi beats lonely Monday evenings and doing all the house chores by himself.) _“What’s up with all the wazons?”_ is one he gets fairly often, in all kinds of tones that vary from concern to amusement to sheer fear, but no, even that is not the something about him that seems to puzzle people the most.

It’s the fact he-

“Remind me again,” Maciek interrupts his train of thought with a mouthful of lettuce, “why don’t you have a car?”

There it is.

“Why should I?” Kamil replies with a hint of amusement to his voice, because he knows how enthusiastic Maciek is about all things fast, both the ones flying in the air as well as the ones moving on four wheels.

For about half a minute, Maciek just stares at Kamil, clearly contemplating between the 58 valid reasons for owning a car he can come up with in one sitting.

“Because you can” is what finally comes out of his mouth, slowly and carefully articulated, as if he believes this possibility has never occurred to Kamil before.

Kamil shrugs and chases for the cherry tomatoes rolling around the plastic container in his hand. They’re somewhere above the Atlantic, still hours from landing on their home runway, so it’s not like he can easily escape having conversations with his new co-pilot. Besides, it’s Maciek’s first transatlantic flight since he was hired by Stoch Airlines straight out of university with a degree in Aviation six months ago, so it’s Kamil’s duty as his captain to make him feel as welcome and relaxed as he possibly can. If that means having to validate his life choices, then so be it.

“The commuter train departs for the city centre every ten minutes and the bus stops right in front of my building, so...why bother?”

It’s true; he sees no point in adding to the hassle that is people trying to weave their way through endless traffic jams only to be the first one to get stuck in the same traffic lights with the cars behind you _just because he can_. That, and the fact that long scheduled flights often make him so completely worn out he’d most likely sleep at the wheel the moment he pulled into the motorway are good enough reasons for him to not make the investment.

“But there are _people_ on public transport. Why would you rather sit next to Harry Heroinson on a mouldy, sticky seat that someone’s probably peed on when you could drive home in the solitude of your own Porsche or Lexus?” The curious confusion on Maciek’s face has now changed to annoyed disapproval and plain disgust and Kamil is so amused by this that he chooses to pretend he doesn’t hear the mumbled _“I bet you could afford both”_.

“I guess I like people.” Kamil smiles apologetically. “And! It’s better for the environment.”

It takes Maciek another thirty or so seconds of expressionless glower to form his next argument.

“You’re a pilot,” he spits out the words. “Flying is by far more polluting than any other form of transportation. You know that.”

This time Kamil can’t help himself and a chuckle escapes from his mouth.

“What can I say? Nobody’s perfect.”

If Kamil detects any passive-aggressiveness in Maciek’s reply (“ _You certainly aren’t_..”), he ignores it, and instead turns on his microphone to remind the passengers to keep their seatbelts fastened in case of turbulence.

-

Six hours later, Kamil is on a bus on his way home, half-awake leaning against a pole covered in greasy fingerprints and old chewing gum (he thinks), hoping that either of his flatmates had remembered to call the plumber to fix the shower while he’s been away, as they promised. He hasn’t been home since early Monday morning, and as much as Kamil loves flying and seeing new places, it’s coming back home to sleep in his own bed after yet another 4-day streak up in the air is what makes him want to do it again and again. Hell, even seeing the overflowing trash can on the front yard of their building is a sight for sore eyes after a particularly exhausting shift.

As the bus turns to Ferry Street, he pushes the stop button, grabs his bags, thanks the bus driver, and steps out in front of his apartment building. Much to his surprise, it isn’t the trash can that he is first confronted by when he lifts his gaze from the ground like he usually does. Instead, he sees his neighbour Johann, clearly unhappy about something, and next to him a man he doesn’t recognize, wearing a purple T-shirt with “FedEx” embroidered on the left side of his chest.

“Johann, hey! Taking the bus this morning, huh? Have they forecast hailstorm for today? I hope not,” Kamil chatters cheerfully and wonders what’s got his neighbour in such a bad mood. Did Fannis accidentally eat all his breakfast cereal again? Or is he just annoyed by the fact he apparently cannot ride his bike to university for some reason? Kamil recalls only a few occasions he has seen Johann outside without his treasured bike ever since he bought it, and Kamil believes even a hailstorm wouldn’t be enough to stop Johann from pedalling to wherever he needs to go, be it the nearest 7-Eleven or his parents’ house in the outskirts of town. He isn’t that close with Johann so it’s hard to tell, although he has spent the occasional evening in his neighbour’s living room watching football, invited by Johann’s flatmate Danny.

Johann says nothing and proceeds to put on sunglasses and a cap to protect himself from the sun that, no doubt, is shining somewhere behind the thick layer of clouds. Kamil shrugs, thinking that maybe Johann knows something he doesn’t and turns to walk towards the front door when he takes another look at the FedEx guy still standing next to Johann.

“Can I help you?” Kamil offers, because the guy looks a little helpless and Kamil was raised to always lend a helping hand to those who might need it.

“I’m here to deliver Mr. Stoch’s raffle prize,” the man says and waves a hand towards a bike Kamil knows to be Johann’s, leaning against the bike rack behind him.

Kamil’s not following.

“I…didn’t know I was in for a draw for anything?”

Kamil hears Johann chuckle expressionlessly, and the FedEx guy continues: “Look, I’m just the delivery guy, so you’re gonna have to ask the guys at Bike & Hike about it. Can you please sign this, Mr. Stoch.”

None the wiser, Kamil has scribbles his signature on the paper given to him, and the FedEx guy is already at the door of his truck when he turns back to face Kamil, his gaze on the paper still in his hand.

“Mr. Stoch?” he asks with a hint of hesitation to his voice.

“Yes?”

“You’re not… You’re not related to Karol Stoch by any chance, are you?”

Kamil sighs and makes a mental note to add this to his list of frequently asked questions.

“Yeah, I believe he’s my father.”

“The founder of Stoch Airlines Karol Stoch?”

“That’s my old man,” Kamil puts on a friendly smile, ignoring his cramping right cheek muscle almost blowing his cover.

“Must be great, being the son of such an influential figure.”

“Mmm-mmhh”, Kamil tries his best to keep on smiling, hoping the man will soon realise he’s running late from his next address. Kamil sighs of relief when the man finally climbs up on the driver’s seat, and right when he thinks he’s done with intrusive inquires for the day, the FedEx guy’s head peeks through the open side window.

“One more thing, Mr. Stoch.”

Here it comes, Kamil thinks and bites his lip.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but…if you’re the son of Karol Stoch, why were you taking the bus?”

-

“So, what did I win?” Kamil turns to Johann with a hopeful smile on his face after the FedEx truck has safely disappeared behind a corner.

Johann points at his bike. Kamil tries to keep up but he really, really can’t.

“But that’s…your bike, is it not?” He’s starting to feel a little helpless by now. Was he gone for four days or four years?

“Mine would be the one next to it.” Johann mutters dryly, hands crossed over his chest, never once turning to look at Kamil as he speaks.

Kamil approaches the bike rack and sees a single wheel attached to a U-lock, right next to the white bicycle. “Confused” doesn’t even begin to describe what Kamil is feeling right now, and he doesn’t know what to expect when he asks his next question:

“Geesh, what happened to it?”

Since he hears no reply from Johann, Kamil turns his attention to the bicycle he _swears_ he has seen Johann drive on numerous occasions. As he inspects it closer, he notices a tag featuring the familiar Bike  & Hike logo and attached to it, a post-it note with messy handwriting:

 

 

_Congrats, buddy!_

 

_Tried calling you but you didn’t pick up, figured you’re busy, so we sent an email._

_Here’s your bike, enjoy!_

_Cheers,_

_Andreas / Bike & Hike _

_PS. Liverpool vs ManU at Danny’s on Sat?_

 

 

 _Well, this is interesting_ , Kamil thinks

Because Kamil can’t for the life of him remember entering a draw or a competition at Bike & Hike or anywhere for that matter, and yet, here he is with a shiny new bike that he never asked for. Against his better judgement, Kamil decides to try and inquire Johann about the meaning of all this once more.

“It’s the May campaign,” Johann replies, still refusing so much as to turn to Kamil’s general direction as he speaks. “Buy anything from any of their stores and you’re in for a draw for whatever. So congratulations.”

His last words don’t sound that sincere to Kamil, but he passes it off with a silence, because everyone is allowed to have a bad day, and by the looks of it Johann is definitely entitled to one today. Kamil tries to remember the last time he went to the local sporting and hiking good retailer and vaguely remembers buying a new pair of gloves a couple of weeks ago to replace the ones he lost in Vancouver.

“You know, you can borrow this if you want to, I’m not gonna need it anyway,” he offers. Kamil’s old bike is fully functional still, although it must be closer to three years since the last time he bothered to dig it up from the garage. He’d be even willing to give it to Johann for free, knowing his young neighbour needs it way more than he does.

“No thank you” are the last words that come out of Johann’s mouth before he hops on the bus that has slowed down in front of them.

Shrugging his shoulders, Kamil takes one more look at his new bicycle, enters his apartment building and takes the elevator to the sixth floor where he shares a roomy three-bedroom apartment with his two flatmates with whom he has become great friends in the three years of coexistence under the same roof.

He opens the door to their apartment, only to find it empty. Richi has most likely already left for work, and if Andi wasn’t Andi, he’d probably be on the sports science lecture he’s supposed to be on. But because Andi _is_ Andi, a safe bet on his present whereabouts would be across the hall, somewhere behind the green door leading to the apartment of their neighbours.

Not minding the absence of his flatmates (because he can really use a good morning’s sleep right now), Kamil drags himself in the shower. He turns on the faucet, but only a thin trail of water was dripping from it.

Now, Kamil is not the type to get mad easily. He understands that we are all people, and that people have their flaws. It was only a little unfortunate that the flaws his flatmates possess are unintentional forgetfulness and chronic laziness, respectively. So he counts to ten, put his clothes back on, finds his phone from the pocket of his captain’s jacket, and scrolls his contacts list until he finds Richi’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What IS up with all the wazons? Keep reading and find out (...maybe).
> 
> (I should mention that none of the personal relationships the characters in this piece of fiction are not, in any way, intended to reflect the characters' personal relationships in real life and are completely made up for the dramatic purposes of this story line.)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: @[theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)  
> Please check out the [slideshow](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1l73s3S-qZ_VqPMrKMKHXpa1CucgpBfGj/view?usp=sharing) I made for this fic (minor spoiler alert)!


	3. The Pilot: Richi (1.3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what he says, I think Richi needs some.

When Richi sees Kamil’s caller ID show up on his phone screen, he knows exactly what it’s about.    
  
“Yeah, man, sorry,” he says before he can even hear his flatmate’s voice on the other end of the line. “I know I promised, but it’s been busy. Just use the one across the hall okay, I’m sure someone’s home, right Robbie?” He glances at his boss across the salon, currently grooming the sideburns of Kurt Cobain’s long-lost brother, apparently an old friend of his, judging by the friendly chattering the two have been engaged in ever since the man sat on Robert’s barber chair.   
  
“No on-the-job personal phone calls, Richi,” his employer replies and takes a step back to admire his handiwork.   
  
“Yeah, he says it’s fine,” Richi smiles on the phone and hangs up with a gotta-go-see-ya-later-bye before Kamil gets a chance to express his objection. He pockets his phone and turns his attention back to his first customer of the day, an attractive man with dark features, who has requested an asymmetrical cut. The guy seems busy texting on his phone, so Richi doesn’t feel like bothering him with meaningless small-talk and instead allows his thoughts wander while he starts shampooing the customer’s hair.    
  
Life’s pretty sweet for Richi right now. He has a job he loves, complete with a fair boss who is also a close friend and a great neighbour. They were only acquaintances before, but after Richi resigned from his old job as a CSO and decided to train to become a barber, their friendship blossomed, and Robert was more than happy to take him under his wing after his previous employee quit and is now apparently running a turtle theme park somewhere in the tropics. (His roommate Andi once suggested that Robert’s sudden interest towards him may be mostly due to the fact he had grown a respectable chevron moustache over the two months he spent at his parent’s house trying to figure out just what he wants to do with his life, but Richi refuses to believe this.) Robert can’t pay him much, but Richi doesn’t mind, because he’s not in it for the money, and anyway he and Andi have an arrangement with Kamil in which he pays their share of the rent every other month if, in return, they help him come up with excuses to avoid the  _ “You know I will retire soon, son” _ dinner date Kamil’s father has been trying to arrange with him for nearly a year now, a highly entertaining activity in which Andi in particular has proven to be immensely creative. (Richi also suspects that Kamil’s part of the arrangement is just another method of rebellion against Papa Stoch, as he is the landlord and owner of their shared accommodation.)    
  
Besides job-related affairs, Richi has nothing to complain about in personal life either. His friends have been nothing but supportive about his unexpected change of career, not to mention his family; his parents had even offered to sell their campervan should Richi need sponsorship in paying for his eleven-month course in barbering and hairstyling. Luckily Richi had the sufficient savings (barely, but still), because he would have felt uncomfortable loaning money from his parents at the age of 25, especially if that would’ve required them to give up their favourite hobby (  _ “We can always just set up a tent in the backyard and pretend we’re at Hainich again!” _ his mother had laughed, and Richi had quickly left the room before his mother began reminiscing the memorable campout she and Richi’s father had had in Germany back in 1990, a story which famously ends in  _ “and about nine months later, Richi was born.” _ )   
  
His love-life was presently stable, meaning he had no romantic partner in his life, and for the time being was not actively seeking one. This is not to say he wouldn’t mind it if a “special someone” appeared in his life, but he’s had his fair share of relationships in the past, some more serious than others, and right now Richi thinks it’s time for him to focus just on himself for change. However, he’s a virile young man, and if Eve Berkowich showed up on his doorway tonight in very little clothing suggesting a threesome with Ka--   
  
“I know a guy.”    
  
It takes a few seconds for Richi to snap out of his fantasies and realise his customer has just spoken.   
  
“Sorry?” Richi stutters and is actually thankful for the interruption; he must have been washing the guy’s hair for about fifteen minutes by now. He decides to make up for the wasted time by giving his customer some extra free samples when they’re done, much to Robert’s distress.    
  
“To fix your shower,” the customer clarifies without looking up from his phone.   
  
Richi is not sure how this man seems to know about the shower of their apartment that’s been out of order for almost three weeks now and by this point he doesn’t dare to ask. Maybe he just has an amazing hearing.   
  
“You…do?” Richi finishes rinsing the customer’s hair and gestures him towards the barber chair placed in front of a large mirror with a decorative frame. The customer tears a slip of paper off one of the magazines on the table in front of him and grabs a pencil from the penholder (their elderly customers and Michi enjoy filling in sudokus while having their hair done at their salon). He scribbles something on the paper and hands it over to Richi before sitting back and pulling out his phone again. Richi looks at the paper in his hand: a name and a phone number. No company name, no surname. This guy must be good, Richi thought to himself, although he doubts he’ll ever dial the number on his phone.    
  
“Huh. Thanks,” he says nevertheless, and looked over at Robert to see if he’s been following their recent interaction, hoping he’d have an explanation or at least be as confused as he is. Unfortunately, Robert is too busy laughing at something his blond customer just said. Therefore, Richi has no choice but to get back to his work and hope his mind won’t go straight in the gutter again, as has happened alarmingly often recently. Although Robert calls him a natural on a daily basis, he’s still a mere trainee and his routine isn’t quite strong enough yet for him to be able to daydream and perform a haircut at the same time. He most certainly doesn’t want to repeat the disaster that was bleaching Krafti’s hair (who himself loved it, thankfully, but there were others who didn’t take the sudden change quite as well).   
  
Almost an hour later, Richi lets out a sigh of relief as he observes his customer’s expression through the mirror. As Robert had promised him when he first started barbering in his subordination, in this job you quickly learn to tell from the customer’s face whether or not they are satisfied with the final outcome, and right now the dark-haired man is turning his head from side to side, patently pleased with his new look which, if Richi may say so himself, is exceptionally successful and looks sinfully good on the guy.    
  
At the moment of payment, Richi does as he intended and provides his customer with a handful of those tiny bags of shampoo and conditioner you can find glued in between the pages of beauty magazines and a travel-size bottle of peach-smelling hairspray, while ignoring Robert’s disapproving stare from across the salon. Richi’s next appointment has been scheduled to start five minutes ago, but Mr. Prevc is nowhere to be seen yet. Relieved about this, Richi heads over to the break slash storage room to prepare himself something for his caffeine craving.   
  
“Check up on Einar-André, will you,” he hears Robert’s voice behind him as he’s on his way to the back of the salon. A smile creeps onto Richi’s face when he enters the messy room where a brown 8-week-old puppy is nestled on Robert’s jumper on the floor between Richi’s backpack and an opened box of moustache wax containers. Robert had picked up the cross-bred puppy last week from a rescue shelter where it had been brought from a cruel puppy mill, and had since then not been seen without it, except while working. Richi scratches Einar-André behind his ear and is rewarded with excited tail-wagging that makes him forget about his intentions to brew coffee.    
  
“Hey, buddy,” he talks to it calmly and quietly, as per Robert’s instructions. “Everything okay here, little fella? Been eating my shoes again?” Robert had promised to get him new ones, but Kamil had beat him to it, handing Richi an unused pair of white sneakers from his wardrobe that he  _ “probably got for Christmas last year, just keep them, they look better on you anyway” _ .   
  
“RICHI!” The puppy jumps when he hears his new owner’s voice from behind the door. “What’s the motto of RoBeard?”    
  
Richi rolls his eyes, because he had never heard of a barbershop having a  _ motto  _ before he started his apprenticeship training here.   
  
“’We moustache you to sit back and relax’?” Richi shouts in response, not entirely sure he understands the purpose of this pop quiz.    
  
“The other one.”    
  
“’All customers regardless of the amount of facial hair are welcome’?”   
  
“The other one.”    
  
Richi had no memory of a third motto.   
  
“Uhhhh…” Richi tries to look for clues around him and as his last hope in Einar-André’s loyal eyes, knowing it’s in vain. Puppies have no understanding of the barbering business, he assumes (although Robert’s puppy actually might, for all Richi knows).   
  
“’No customer shall be left ungreeted at the moment of entering,’” Robert’s voice finally sounds from the salon. Richi swears he’s never heard that one before but has come to know his boss well enough to understand it’s code for  _ “no on-the-job loitering, Richi, your next customer is here” _ .    
  
“Gotta go, buddy, before he skins me alive,” he whispers to Einar-André, even though they both know their mutual friend would never hurt a fly (unless it was threatening a customer’s positive experience at RoBeard). He gives the puppy one final scratch and returns to the salon where his new customer is waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Any guesses on the mysterious customer who “knows a guy”? Well, probably not, because I made the character like this purely because I thought it’d be fun (same goes for all the other characters!). And because he seems..mysterious.
> 
> 2\. The Michi/sudoku reference inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZ_v90QiLfU). 
> 
> 3\. The name of Robert’s dog started as a sort of an inside joke between myself and [marsilainen](http://marsilainen.tumblr.com/). Not sure what inspired it at the time and it’s not relevant here anyway, I just thought Einar-André would be a super cute name for a dog (his full name is actually Einar-André Remen-Egner).


	4. The Pilot: Robert (1.4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell Robert what to do.

Robert remembers that fateful day as if it was yesterday.

He was sitting in an employment office, once again, disinterestedly eyeing the fifty-something woman browsing his employment agency file on the screen in front of her. She had  impressively thick hair for someone her age, Robert thought to himself, but it was obvious she had been going to the same hairdresser since the 80s. Robert could come up with at least five new styles that would suit her facial features better than the bangs and the questionable perm on the top of her head until the woman finally spoke.

“It says here that your previous contract was discontinued due to ‘complete inability to follow common practices’?”

“Well, _excuse me_ for refusing to destroy my customers’ NMF by exposing them to the literal acid that are Shisse’s products! That dishwater lacks all of the essential micronutrients,” Robert had exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And the one before that was ended because of your constant criticism towards Mr. Carver’s working methods. Do you confirm?” the woman continued with no sympathy in her voice.

Robert sneered, unamused.

“If that old man wants to turn his barbershop into a Luis Buñuel short film, then by all means…”

“Robert, what I’m saying,” the woman took off her reading glasses and finally turned to look at him, “is that you have practically been fired from your five previous posts because of some ridiculous disagreements over the pricing of eye-brow threading or the colour of towels. That is, conflicts that could’ve easily been avoided, had you been more…cooperative.”

It was hard for Robert to argue with that. Perhaps he could’ve made more compromises in his career, but as a fully-licensed barber, he has certain standards and principles, and all his previous workplaces had violated those in one way or another. He had burnt a lot of bridges along the way, so even if he had wanted to, there was no going back to make amends with any of them. Moreover, his reputation as the “snobby little know-it-all” had spread like a wildfire among the barbers in the area; his options were, so to say, limited.

Then the employment agency official said those magical words that planted in Robert’s mind an idea which had before that moment seemed as realistic as Kenny returning from a downhill skiing trip without a torn ACL, but which was now as clear as day the only solution to his unemployment problem.

“Robert, why don’t you just start your own business?”

-

Four years, dozens of loan consultations, months of paperwork and one painful engagement annulment later, RoBeard is a stable, profitable barber salon. He has even been able to hire an employee, Richi, who started as an apprentice, has been delightfully quick to learn the ropes and is a joy to have around, despite his tendency to give out more freebies than Robert would approve of to compensate his lack of efficiency. Furthermore, Robert’s undeniable expertise and, contrary to the belief of the people he worked with before, his overall easy-going personality have helped him gain a large clientele; elderly gentlemen who come to Robert to have their whiskers and moustaches trimmed every four weeks, as well as fashion-conscious young men who appreciate Robert’s knowledge on the current affairs and the latest crazes in the hairstyling field.

One of his most loyal regular customers is Mr. Prevc, who this time, however, is not the one in need of a haircut, but has dragged in with him a moody young man, probably in his late teens, who bears a certain resemblance with his alleged capturer. Robert is suddenly glad the appointment fell on Richi this time and tries his best to hide his amusement in fear of offending either of the men that moments earlier had entered his salon. He’s relieved when he sees Richi finally returning to his post, but there’s a twinge in his chest when he hears unhappy wailing from behind the back-room door. Thankfully he’s almost done with his current customer, a dear friend Ber who always has his hair done by Robert whenever he’s in town.

“Just a trim or did you have something special in your mind, sir?” Robert hears Richi inquire of the younger man sitting on his chair with arms crossed over his chest.

“I’d like the big-headed fist-fucker cut, please. There’s your model, if you need one,” the boy points a thumb over his shoulder, presumably at Mr. Prevc sitting on one of the waiting chairs, eyes fixed on a tablet in his hands. Luckily for Ber, Robert has already finished with the scissoring, otherwise there might be a severe risk of cut wounds in his neck, seeing as his shoulders are now shaking uncontrollably.

“As if I was going to let you have your on-the-job training in my office with _that_ hair,” Mr. Prevc replies, eyes never leaving the screen of his mobile device. “Just neaten it a little.” These words are directed at Richi, who, with a repressed smile, suggests his customer move to the hair-washing station. Robert would love to see how the situation develops, but he has his own assignment to finish off.

He and Ber say their farewells ( _“Have a fan-stache-tic day!”_ was never that clever, but the moustache puns are part of the fun in his salon and Robert is far too polite to spoil his customers’ joy by not laughing every time), and Robert makes for the breakroom. The whimpering had stopped a while ago, but Robert didn’t let himself be fooled by that and expects to find the room as if hit by a hurricane. He opens the door and is not surprised to find Einar-André surrounded by tiny shreds of the newspaper Robert had spread out on the floor in case of “accident”, which had indeed happened, dangerously close to Richi’s backpack on the floor. One of the elastic bands from its front pocket is missing, and it doesn’t take a whole lot of power of reasoning from Robert to know what his new companion is chewing on with his sharp puppy teeth. Sighing, he crouches down to stroke Einar-Andrés shiny fur.

“We warned him, didn’t we?” Robert says softly, and the look in the puppy’s eyes says: _“we did.”_

Robert cleans up the floor in silence, because there’s no use scolding the dog now that it’s already been a while since the crime has been committed. However, he has to use a few harsher commands in trying to make Einar-André let go of the elastic band, which Robert ends up throwing in the trash can, hoping Richi won’t miss it. He pours kibbles in a small porcelain bowl and places it in front of the puppy who starts eating with great appetite. Meanwhile, Robert sits down for a glass of coconut water and takes out his phone. He’s got several notifications, one from Johann in their apartment group chat, asking everyone to call the police if they see someone with a white SJ Planica 7000 with a missing front wheel, and the rest are private texts from Fannis.

 

 

Robert can’t help but laugh out loud at his forgetful friend, and kind of feels sorry for him, because he knows how mad Johann will get when he notices someone’s been eating his breakfast cereal again. In Fannis’ defence though, everyone knows he doesn’t do it on purpose (the same cannot be said of Danny who just doesn’t care, or Andi who doesn’t even live there). Still, Robert makes a mental note to buy Fannis some Weetabix of his own, just to maintain peace in their shared accommodation.

It’s almost 10 o’clock, which means that his break is over and his next customer, the cherub haired Mr. Kubacki, should arrive any minute now. Robert would hate to neglect the third official motto of RoBeard, for which he just ticked Richi off, never mind the fact the motto didn’t even exist until this morning. It’s a good motto, Robert thinks contentedly as he places a soft kiss on top of Einar-André’s head, promising to come back to take him out for a little walk soon. He feels his phone buzz once more in his pocket as he strides back to the salon, but his new customer has just stepped through the door, so whoever sent the text will have to wait for his reply until his next break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ok wow I actually really suck at writing summaries? I promise I will step up my game in future.)
> 
> tumblr: @[theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	5. The Pilot: Fannis (1.5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fannis just wanted to use the shower.

_ “Oh, great,” _ Fannis bit his lip. Johann was going to be mad at him again.  As if he wasn’t already in a mood, judging by the message he sent in their group chat. Since Robert is not answering his latest text to put his mind at rest ( _ “how mad do you think he’ll be?”) _ , Fannis contemplates texting Andreas to ask if he can crash at his tonight, because no one wants to get into Johann’s way when he’s cranky. He’s a nice guy and an irreplaceable friend, but if there’s one thing he’s more passionate about than his bike, it’s his groceries. To this day Fannis almost tears up when he thinks back to that one time he, quite by accident, used some of Johann’s special blend coffee instead of the cheap one from the supermarket; Johann had apologised afterwards and Fannis knows he was genuinely sorry for the things he had said, but Fannis still feels bad about it.

Besides Johann’s wrath there’s another motive for Fannis to not be near their apartment tonight, or their building for that matter, but there’s no way he’s ever going to tell anyone about it. It had happened about ten minutes ago when he had just gotten up from bed. He  was barely conscious of the world around him and headed straight to shower to properly wake himself up. It wasn’t until several too long seconds of staring later that he realised the shower was, against all odds, occupied.

“Oh, hey, was the door not locked? Sorry, just give me a second,” Kamil had said cheerily, in all his naked glory.

Fannis had said nothing, had done nothing but stared.

“Or if you’re busy, just hop in, let’s save the planet and all that?” Kamil had laughed, obviously amused by Fannis’ stunned silence. It was Kamil’s light-hearted laughter indeed that finally woke Fannis up from his trance, and he’s almost sure he had managed to blurt out a quick  _ “no I’m fine” _ before closing the shower curtain and hurrying out of the bathroom, but the more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is that what came out of his mouth was  _ “no you’re fine” _ , and that is, essentially, the reason Fannis is about to pack his bags and leave Ferry Street for good.

So there he was now, no longer hungry but instead feeling guilty for eating his flatmate’s cereal, and no longer feeling tired but instead hoping the ground would swallow him whole before Kamil’s finished with this shower,  _ the one in their bathroom _ , because he has no idea how he’s ever going to be able to look at Kamil ever again and not see what he just saw. What’s worse, his shift at the pool doesn’t start until 1 o’clock, so he has no good reason to leave the house before midday.

Fannis has just decided it’s best he sneaks back into the safety of his own room, but he stops in his tracks when he hears the front door being unlocked and in steps a sweaty, panting Kenny in his running gear. Normally Fannis would pay little attention to such an ordinary event, as Kenny skips his morning run only in the occasion of a stomach flu that requires him to stay within a 10-metre radius of the nearest toilet. However, knowing it can’t be longer than two months since Kenny’s latest knee surgery, Fannis becomes immediately worried and blissfully forgets about Kamil, still in their bathroom.

“Should you be running?” Fannis asks with a frown.

Kenny wipes his forehead on his sleeve and reaches the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard for a drinking glass.

“Et tu, Brute,” Kenny groans and runs water into the glass. Fannis sympathises with his friend; you would think that the more times you injure yourself, the less people would fuss about it each time, but quite the contrary, everyone’s worried about Kenny’s health more than ever.

“How’s the knee?” Fannis asks, this time a little more compassionately and less accusingly. His strategy doesn’t seem to work, however; Kenny gives a long sigh after finishing his drink but doesn’t answer.

Just a little too late Fannis remembers what he was about to do before he was distracted by Kenny’s arrival. Blood rushes to his face as he hears the bathroom door open and only seconds later a wet-haired Kamil pads to the living area of their apartment, only this time he’s wearing ( _ thank heavens _ , Fannis thinks) a towel around his slim hips. Much to Fannis’ agony, it’s hanging inches below his belly button, exposing his toned abs and a happy trail that disappears somewhere underneath the cloth, hiding areas of Kamil’s body that Fannis wouldn’t dare to imagine even in his most vivid daydreams (nor does he have to anymore).

“All good?” Fannis hears Kenny ask (presumably Kamil) just when he’s reached ‘seven’ in counting Kamil’s individual abdominal muscles. In a quick scan he had registered four muscle pairs, but he needed to be sure.

“Yeah, thanks again for letting me borrow your shower,” Kamil sighs, making all the eight muscles in his stomach contract slightly.

Fannis doesn’t know for how long it had been since the conversation around him had stopped but hearing Kenny clear his throat makes him snap from his thoughts and realise he  had probably been staring. His cheeks feel so hot he wouldn’t be surprised if someone called the fire service.

“Well,” Kamill finally speaks, “I should get going.” Kamil heads for the door. Just when he’s passing Fannis, Kamil’s eyes find his and he gives Fannis a flirty wink before disappearing in the hallway.

Fannis is sure all the air just escaped from his lungs.

Because Kamil Stoch just  _ winked _ at him.

_ Winked! _

“Oh! One thing,” Fannis nearly yelps in surprise when he hears Kamil’s voice behind him once more. “Eve’s out of town, so if you guys wanna watch Sky Sports tonight, the door’s open.”

“Thanks! We’ll be there,” Kenny smiles, and when Fannis finally hears the lock in their front door click he lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He doesn’t dare look at Kenny who, Fannis can feel it, is observing him with great curiosity.

“What the hell was that about?” Kenny chuckles with obvious amusement in his voice. But this time it’s Fannis’ turn to leave Kenny hanging with no answer, as he rushes to his room, leaving Kenny alone in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's gay for Kamil, including Fannis (well, technically bi, as the general consensus seems to be).
> 
> It wasn't until after I had finished writing this chapter (way back in May) that I realised you don't really get to know much about Fannis' character here. I promise this will be fixed in later chapters.
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr whenever: @[theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com)


	6. The Pilot: Kenny (1.6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny could probably use a hug. Not that he's gonna ask for one though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it says 'comedy' and 'fluff' in the tags but I'm afraid this chapter is gonna have a teeeeeeeny bit of angst in it too. Completely unintentional, just happened, very sorry.

When Kenny sees Fannis disappear in his room and close the door behind him, he finally moves his weight to his right feet. He grimaces in relief and reaches to rub his left knee.

No, he probably shouldn’t be running; his doctor has said his knee needs at least ten weeks to recover from the surgery before he can start putting a strain on it again, and even then he’s supposed to start with light jogging, 1,5 kilometres at the most in the beginning. So maybe his five-kilometre route around the suburb was a bit too much, Kenny admits to himself, even if he had to stop four times to catch his breath. Two months of doing barely any strenuous work-out has taken its toll on his physical condition, which is frustrating Kenny to no end.

Not to mention the immense pain in his left knee.

The first time he tore his anterior cruciate ligament in a freaky snowboarding accident it had been his right knee and Kenny had taken it with good humour, saying he totally won’t mind lying on the sofa and be waited on for two months. The second time it happened he had been a little more annoyed, not least because his friends thought it was kind of tragicomic he managed to injure the same knee in a nearly identical jump and joked that maybe it’s a sign for him to sell all his equipment and focus on water running instead, or become the world’s first professional beer pong player ( _ “No, that would be you, Danny” _ Kenny had replied to his flatmate, who had nodded in agreement). The third time it happened it was his left knee, thankfully, and there had been no banter. In fact, it had been very quiet in the slope, safe for Kenny’s screams of pain mixed with anger and frustration once he realised what had happened. The  _ fourth _ time it had happened it was Kenny who had laughed, because ‘ridiculous’ didn’t even begin to describe the situation, while his friends had been awkwardly looking at each other, wondering whether they should be taking him to the psychiatric department instead of the A & E. Later that evening his mother had cried on the phone upon hearing the news, and to be honest Kenny himself had not been in high spirits either.

So “how’s your knee?” is a question Kenny has gotten used to hearing nearly every day over the years from family, friends, teammates, coaches, teachers, peers, neighbours, even the janitor Walter (who would then start rambling about his “younger years in professional sports” if you didn’t escape him fast enough, which was easier said than done when you’re on the crutches). For the past two years the times he has been bothered to give anyone a proper, honest answer have been few and far between.

Safe to say, Kenny has had to kiss his career as a professional football player goodbye (the sport where you kick the ball with your feet, not the one where you carry it in your hands), which is something he’s not sure he’ll ever truly get over.  _ “You’ll make a wonderful coach” _ and  _ “with your education, sport management is always an option”  _ are supposedly intended to be words of comfort, and to anyone else they might have been, but not to Kenny; he had had his whole life planned entirely around the assumption he’ll play football for his living. It was a risk to begin with, but Kenny had no other choice but to take it, seeing he has always been terrible at doing against what his heart tells him to. As birthdays have come and gone, Kenny has learnt that this tactic is more than likely to only get his heart  _ broken _ .

And that’s why Kenny runs barely eight weeks after his fourth ACL surgery. He runs, knowing very well it might cause permanent damage in his knee and cause unbearable pain later in his life. He runs, because he hopes that the ache in his knee will eventually mute the ache in his heart.

Kenny lets go of his knee and straightens his back when he hears Fannis open his bedroom door. He snickers when Fannis glances worriedly towards the front door, as if expecting Kamil to jump through it any second, and wonders what was going on between the two. When it’s about Fannis it could be anything.

“Rough morning?” he smiles at Fannis who manages a breathy laugh.

“I’ve had better,” he replies as he sits on a kitchen stool and begins juggling with the single orange he grabs from the fruit basket on the counter.

_ So have I _ , Kenny wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Fannis is one of his oldest friends and he knows he would listen and try his best to understand how he’s feeling, but this morning Kenny’s just not in the mood for profound conversation.

“Plans for tonight?” he asks instead. Fannis shrugs, eyes on the orange.

“So we’re going to Kamil’s then?” Kenny asks, seemingly as a throwaway, but in truth he just wants to see if mentioning their neighbour’s name provokes any kind of reaction in Fannis. He’s not disappointed, as the fruit slips from Fannis’ hands and rolls several metres on the floor and under the coffee table, parking right next to someone’s (most likely Danny’s) dirty, neglected sock.

“Yeah, sure, why not, I mean, whatever,” Fannis stutters, clears his throat, and looks out the window, avoiding Kenny’s amused gaze.  _ What the hell had happened while I was out? _

Kenny cannot help himself and decides to tease his friend a little longer; he could really use the entertainment this morning.

“Ever wondered why he has all those stupid vases?” Kenny asks him. He grabs his left ankle on his backside to stretch his front thigh and has to bite his lip to keep himself from pulling a face for the physical pain he feels.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s gonna sell them. They look kinda valuable,” Fannis suggests. Kenny wouldn’t use the word ‘valuable’ to describe the ten  _ wazons _ Kamil has arranged on a shelf in his bedroom, but they’re definitely some sort of unique design, he assumes.

“That doesn’t make any sense though,” Kenny says thoughtfully, “he makes a shit-ton of money already and he’s never been one to care about material possessions anyway.”

Kenny and everyone he knew adored Kamil for that. Kamil was the most successful, yet the most humble and down-to-earth person he had ever met, and he believed that if all of us were a bit more like Kamil, the world would be a much better place. If Kamil Stoch invited you to spend the evening in his company, it was impossible to decline the offer.

Fannis has no further counter-arguments and Kenny doesn’t have the heart to torture him any longer, so the topic is dropped. They stare out the window in comfortable silence for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts, until Kenny starts feeling a little icky in his sweaty work-out clothes.

“Are you gonna use the shower?” he turns to Fannis, who shakes his head, and Kenny’s not sure whether he imagines it or not, but he could swear the pink of Fannis’ cheeks deepens slightly at the question. Walking past him, Kenny grabs him in a half-hug and plants a quick kiss at his temple, causing a giggle to escape his friend’s mouth.  _ Challenge completed _ , Kenny smiles to himself, because a morning you manage to make Fannis giggle at least once is a morning well spent and a daily objective for Kenny personally.

On his way to the bathroom, Kenny bangs his fist on a closed bedroom door.

“Get the fuck up, Danny,” he shouts through the door before entering the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are welcome to interact with me on Tumblr ([theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/))


	7. The Pilot: Danny (1.7)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny is a (hot) mess.

A muffled  _ fuck you _ sounds from under the covers at the knocking noise, accompanied by inarticulate growling. Danny reaches for his phone on the bedside table, then on the floor, then under the bed, and when he finally finds it in a shoe under a pile of dirty laundry he’s too awake to go back to sleep but also too lazy to get dressed yet. He flops back into bed and checks the notifications. Two missed calls from Andi from the night before, a text featuring a picture of himself asleep on the metro, leaning against a stranger next to him (also from Andi), and a few from the flatmate message group that he can’t be bothered to open right now. Instead, he takes another look at the picture Andi had sent him and laughs. He deduces Andi must have taken it on their way back home from the frat party, although he cannot recall a metro ride (nor anything that happened after 11 PM for that matter). Technically, Danny probably isn’t even part of the fraternity anymore, since he hasn’t been going to uni for about a year and a half. He hadn’t planned it per se, but when he left his third exam of the finals week in December, he knew he wouldn’t be going back, at least for some time. No one at the party had seemed to care though, and he had been lucky enough to be part of the winning team of Flip Cup with Andi. Whatever happened after the midpoint of King’s Cup is a bit of a blur.

Danny’s cackling, going through all the Instagram stories from the night before, but his efforts to recollect last night’s events are interrupted when his phone buzzes in his hands to notify him of a new text. It’s from his sister.

Danny replies with the ‘thumb up’ emoji, although a dinner in a fancy Michelin restaurant with his parents and sister (and possibly her holier-than-thou fiancé) does not evoke any sorts of positive emotions in him. However, at the mention of a tie Danny’s mind goes immediately to his Christmas present from Kenny a few years ago; a tacky Christmas tie featuring a red-nosed, clearly intoxicated Santa Claus that starts singing, let’s say, a  _ mature _ version of  _ 12 Days of Christmas _ when you press the Santa’s bare belly button. Danny cannot decide which detail he likes the most: the blinking lights that twinkle in rhythm with the song or the fact that once you push the button, the music won’t stop until it has gone through all twelve verses. As if it didn’t already get on everyone’s nerves when he wore it to family gatherings during the holidays, it will most certainly embarrass the hell out of his parents when he wears it in a posh restaurant in  _ May _ . Suddenly Danny is looking forward to Saturday evening, but he receives another text from his sister.

Danny has always had a feeling his older sister possesses some sort of sixth sense regarding Danny’s impulsiveness and for a minute contemplates changing her name in his contact list to ‘party-pooper’. He gives up on the idea because, despite their differences, Danny loves his sister dearly and without her Danny is certain their parents would’ve cut him off the second he announced he’s dropping out of uni. Unfortunately, however, even Dee has not succeeded in convincing Danny to re-enrol, resulting in the cash flow to his bank account to dry up.

Currently, if someone asks Danny what he’s doing with his life, he says he’s job-hunting ( _ “In a nightclub?” _ had Johann once asked sceptically and thank goodness for Kamil who had helpfully argued  _ “you never know who you run into!” _ ). Not very actively, Danny admits, but was Rome built in a day? ( _ “No, but they were laying bricks every hour…” _ Kenny had murmured but Danny had heard absolutely nothing, as he had already put his headphones back on). In Danny’s defence, he had already scored a few temporary posts, first as a kids’ golf course instructor for a week last summer, and various gigs as a ‘freelance photographic model’, an opportunity that was offered to him in a nightclub indeed ( _ “See?” _ he had said with great content to Johann, who had seemed unimpressed) by an only mildly drunk middle-aged man who had told Danny he has a “pretty face” and given him his business card. Andi had been convinced that the guy had just been trying to hit on him, and Danny too had had his suspicions when he saw the selection of underpants the man wanted to photograph him in, but the man had been nothing but professional and promised to inform Danny of any future jobs. There has been a few more since then, but as long as he’s not enrolled in an actual model agency, he’s not going to be able to earn his bread and butter with this career. Besides, Danny’s not sure whether a modelling career is the one he wants to pursue anyway. He’s trying his best to figure out what exactly might be such a career, and in the meantime, he might as well take advantage of all the free time he has on his hands and accompany Andi to whatever crazy stunts he can come up with. Someone has to keep an eye on the boy after all.

Quarter to 12, Danny’s stomach growls in dissatisfaction. Lazily he searches for a pair of clean shorts to wear, careful not to make any fast movements, fearing his head might fall off his shoulders. Rubbing his forehead in hopes of easing the pounding, he shuffles his way across the floor to his door. In the common room he’s greeted by a shower-fresh Kenny and Fannis tying his shoe-laces. On the kitchen counter there’s a glass full of apple juice and a single aspirin. He smiles gratefully at Kenny who rolls his eyes before returning the smile.  _ Love you too, Kenny. _

“Had fun last night?” Kenny asks, browsing on his phone.

“Always,” Danny replies with a hoarse voice and downs the remains of his drink.

“Sure,” Kenny chuckles and throws Danny a carton of smoothie. “You woke up Einar-André though. Robert wasn’t happy.”

“Not my fault he’s a light sleeper. We could literally not have been any more quiet,” Danny says in defence.

“You knocked over the coat rack.”

“That old thing falls over when you so much as look at it.”

“On Einar-André’s water bowl.”

“Better not keep it in the middle of the hallway then.” Danny’s starting to become a little annoyed by the accusations. He may have been under the influence but he’s not an inconsiderate jerk.

Kenny points at a steel water bowl on the floor next to the fridge, in the farthest corner of the kitchen, approximately five meters away from the front door of the apartment. Danny tries and fails to remember why he had dragged the coat rack all the way to the kitchen but he is sure it had been absolutely necessary at the time.

Suddenly Danny feels like he’s being stared at. He turns to look at Fannis and catches him eyeing his bare upper body. Fannis looks away and stands up and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m..gotta..work” he mumbles, grabs his backpack and rushes out of the apartment. Danny and Kenny share a look that says  _ who the heck knows _ , because Fannis is…well, Fannis. They’ve been friends for years, but no one has really figured him out yet.

Regardless, Danny sees this event as a sign to go back to his room and find something to cover his torso. He finds an almost unused shirt on the floor beside his bed and puts it on. In the corner of his eye, Danny notices movement under the covers of his queen size bed. He gives it a light kick and laughs at the  _ mmmmffffgdfgfffffgggghhghgmmgfff _ he gets in response.

“Shouldn’t you be in a lecture, Andi?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fannis' behaviour/character in this fic is low-key based on [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/792568b8e2443add9d089881feee8983/tumblr_o1f1uxz1dL1sniv7no1_500.gif) and [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2637c0a701348891e344eb5583c2900f/tumblr_o1f21nXFVT1tsubl8o1_500.gif). 
> 
> Danny's character, on the other hand, is based on purely my imagination, but we all know the boy can party. (Also, [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/f78c40ee3fbdfcdb5fd91bd5e5ccf13d/tumblr_oiehfexneo1ts4pm8o2_250.gif) is Danny when he's visiting his parents in need of financial support.)
> 
> Come say hi to me on Tumblr: [theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	8. The Pilot: Andi (1.8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All work and no play makes Andi a dull boy.

Andi swears his head weighs a ton. His mouth feels like the Sahara Desert and he’s pretty sure he just became blind when Danny opened the blinds, allowing daylight to enter the room.

Andi decides it there and then: he is  _ never _ drinking again.

Or at least not until the next fraternity gathering.

Something in Andi’s stomach does a somersault when Danny slumps on the bed, causing the strings to bounce the mattress for what feels like an eternity to Andi. Danny turns to lie on his side, facing him. For a while they say nothing and just look at each other with faint smiles playing on their lips. Then Danny’s eyes travel lower until they stop somewhere below Andi’s jaw. Andi watches as Danny reaches out his hand towards Andi’s chest and starts running a finger along his bare collarbone.

“Morning,” he says smiling and stays quiet for a while, stroking Andi’s tanned skin until he continues: “…cutie.”

Andi’s smile widens, and he straightens his arms above his head in a lazy, full-body stretch.

Waking up in Danny’s bed instead of his own after a night out has become the norm rather than the exception since some time last semester. As for their friendship, it emerged to its present extent nearly two years ago, Andi recalls. That summer, Richi was staying at his parents’ house in the countryside, getting his shit together, and Kamil had been too busy with treading a fine line between flying around the world and wooing Eve. With all his course mates from uni gone back to their respective homes for the summer, Andi, stuck in the city with a poorly paid summer job in retail, was left to his own devices. Unfortunately, housekeeping has never been a great interest of his ( _ “Good luck finding a girlfriend in the 21st century,” _ Richi had once mocked him after his attempt to cook lasagne using his mom’s famous recipe had backfired fatally) and spending one lonely evening after another was starting to mess with his head a little.

Enter Danny.

(Well, technically the whole household across the hall, but  _ mainly _ Danny.)

When Andi first moved in the building, he had been far too busy trying to survive his freshman-year studies (and the parties) and “networking” with fellow students to be bothered to make the acquaintance of the next-doors, despite the fact they seemed to be good friends with Kamil (but then, who isn’t) and hung out in their flat regularly to watch sports on TV. He knew them all by name and politely greeted them every time they saw each other in the hallway, but that’s about it. He knew Johann was a fellow freshman in his uni but studied at a different campus in a different faculty. He saw Danny around quite a bit, as they both studied Sport and Health Sciences and even belonged to the same fraternity, but for some reason their paths had never crossed until fate stepped in one evening early July two years ago, in the form of a broken key and a chocolate cake.

Andi had had a particularly crappy day at the summer job and was planning to barricade himself in the apartment for the rest of the day. At the front door of their building, however, his contactless smart key chip gets no reaction from the electric lock on the door. He swipes the chip over the black chunk above the door handle again and again, but the red light did not turn green. Andi sighed and had already took out his phone, ready to call the janitor, when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Let me,” a smiling Danny had appeared behind him, holding his chip ready in his other hand and a white box in the other. Andi smiled gratefully and stepped aside. As Danny walked passed him to the door, curiosity got the best of Andi and he sneaked a glance at the mysterious box his neighbour was carrying. The window on the top revealed its insides: a huge confectionary-made chocolate cake with  _ “Johann” _ written on it with white icing. Complete with the quotation marks.

“Looks yummy,” Andi said, nodding towards the box when Danny grabbed the door knob after successfully unlocking the door.

“Yeah, it’s for Johann’s birthday,” Danny replied and held to door open for Andi before stepping inside after him. In the elevator they exchanged the typical how-are-yous and Andi was given more information about the cake; handmade at Cene’s Cupcakes, a confectionary just behind the corner, it had raspberry jam on the first layer, vanilla pudding on the second, and the dark chocolate icing was actually mocha flavoured. Danny told Andi he was welcome to join the party and while Andi appreciated the sentiment, he barely knew these people and didn’t want to intrude, so he politely declined. Once on the sixth floor, they went their separate ways (as much as one can when living across the hall from the other), but when Andi was already one foot in the apartment, he heard Danny’s voice behind him again.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join us? It’s a big cake, even for six people.”

Andi took one more look at the cake and swallowed but turned down the invitation with a friendly smile.

“We have pizza too,” Danny continued. Andi thought about what was waiting for him in his fridge: leftover dumplings from the takeout he had had the night before, canned corn, and half of a ham & cheese sandwich that had been there so long Andi should probably have started collecting rent from it by now. Pizza would be a definite upgrade.

Danny presumably noticed his hesitation and went on:

“And nachos...”

Andi fucking loves nachos.

“And croissants…”

Croissants are Andi’s weakness. His mother bakes croissants every Sunday and they are (besides his family) the one thing he misses most from home. In particular he liked the ones-

“…with milk chocolate filling.”

“Swiss?” Andi asked and bit his lip. Danny didn’t reply but instead gave him a look that said  _ what do you think, kid. _

And that’s how Andi ended up spending the whole evening with his five neighbours and Johann’s girlfriend. He was welcomed as if he was an old friend, and Andi felt like they had known each other for ages, wondering why he hadn’t befriended the boys in the apartment opposite theirs sooner. He got along well with Danny especially, as they had lots in common: they both aspired to become PE teachers, they both had been rejected by White Mountain University, and they had the same preferences for alcoholic beverages. Consequently, they started spending more time together, on their time off as well as at uni once the new semester began in September. Since then, student parties and spontaneous Friday night hangouts have regularised as their favoured method of bonding, and sometimes, if they come home exceptionally late, it makes sense for the other (Andi) to crash at the other’s (Danny’s) place. (Although, if anyone dared ask the logic behind this reasoning once they were sober, chances are they couldn’t give one, but the important thing is it made sense at the time.) Sometimes, this means Andi passing out on the couch, drooling all over someone’s (Kenny’s) jersey that was forgotten there. Other times, Andi ends up in Danny’s room. He can’t always remember what happened after each time they fell on Danny’s bed, but he’s sure they had fun.

Thinking back to the fun they had last night, Andi is ready to fall back to blissful sleep, but a pinch to his nipple startles him and he cries out in surprise.

“Ouch!” he exclaims, rubbing his mistreated nipple. “The fuck was that for?” 

“Stop zoning out!” Danny laughs as Andi tugs a pillow under Danny’s head and starts beating him with it in sweet revenge while Danny defends himself by smacking Andi with his own shirt that Danny grabbed off the bedhead where it had been flown the night before. The battle calms down when they’re both out of breath, Andi lying on top of Danny, a victorious smile painted on his lips.

Three, five, ten seconds pass staring into each other’s eyes until Danny’s head rises off the mattress towards Andi’s face, and about 0.3 seconds later Andi is sitting up pulling his shirt back on, eyes wandering around the room for the rest of his clothes.

“I really need to make it to that sports biology class or Mr. Schuster won’t let me pass,” he snorts as he pulls on his jeans. He doesn’t look towards Danny when he says his see-ya-laters (so he doesn’t see how other man is looking anywhere else except at him too) and leaves the room and the apartment, thankful that none of Danny’s roommates are nowhere to be seen as he walks through the common area.

Once he’s back in the opposite apartment, he instantly feels guilty for leaving his friend hanging like that. He enjoys spending time with Danny, he really does, and never has a single regret about whatever happens in the dark of Danny’s bedroom and even takes pleasure in brief cuddling while sober, the key word being ‘brief’. Andi is not sure how Danny feels about the matter, but Andi would be happy to keep it that way. Andi is not looking for anything  more serious than that right now; he’s got his hands full with studying and whatever temporary posts he can find to fund it all. What he and Danny have is a way to relief all the stress and that’s quite enough for him for the time being. Andi sincerely hopes it’s enough for Danny too and that he’s just imagining the subtle change in his friend’s recent behaviour.

On his way to his bedroom to fetch his backpack, the door next to his opens and Kamil’s head peeks from behind it.

“Hey! Thought I heard something. Off to school?” Kamil asks and tries to hide a yawn behind his hand. Yes, even someone as perfect and invincible as Kamil Stoch gets exhausted after a four-day work streak flying from one continent to another, Andi thinks. The thought is reassuring; maybe there’s hope for the rest of us after all.

“Yeah,” he answers and decides not to mention he already missed his first lecture due to hangover. Kamil is in many ways like the older brother Andi never had and overall a cool guy, but sometimes he acts as if Andi was twelve. He and Andi’s mother would get along splendidly, Andi assumes.  

“If you see Michi, tell him we’re having a Sky Sport hangout tonight, okay?”

“Sure, cool,” Andi nods before entering his room, glad to have passed Kamil’s security check.

“Your shirt’s on backwards, you party animal,” Kamil yells after him.

Well, almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the tandlinger shippers out there! I have other plans for these characters in this story. They like each other very much though. :) 
> 
> (If it's any consolation, tandlinger is endgame in another AU of mine which, unfortunately, I'll never write as it's waaaaaay too elaborate and kinda odd anyway. Sorry again! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)
> 
> tumblr: @[theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	9. The Pilot: Michi (1.9)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Didn’t know you had that in you, dude."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! <3 
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter, but worry not - the next one is a little longer and will be uploaded later this week!
> 
> A special thanks to my wonderful beta [Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose) for doing a brilliant job with this one (and all the other chapters!).

“Third row, second one from the left, eh?”

Michi jumps when he hears Mackenzie’s voice behind him. An amused snort leaves his nose as he turns to glance at his course mate over his shoulder before refocusing his attention to the sight in front of him. Behind a glass wall, a gymful of university students, all female, are doing bicep curl squats in time with upbeat music, eyes fixed on a young man at the front of the hall facing the crowd. Everyone is wearing skin-tight leggings and sporty tank tops. Some of them have quite a plunging neckline, Michi admits.

“Our left or theirs?” Michi asks innocently, just to frustrate Mackenzie for his own entertainment.

“Wha- our left!” he shrieks and Michi turns his face further away from Mackenzie to hide his trembling lips. “Although,” Mackenzie adds thoughtfully, “she’s kinda fit too, now that you mention it. “

Michi can’t help himself anymore and lets out a hearty laugh. Shaking his head, he turns to face Mackenzie once more.

“How’s… what’s her name again?” he asks, hoping it would distract Mackenzie from the fact he still hasn’t expressed an opinion on the current matter.

“Whose name?” Mackenzie replies absentmindedly, eyes still wandering around the sea of tight ponytails bouncing up and down.

“The girl from the Zumba class? Did you go out?”

Mackenzie’s face falls immediately and Michi adopts a sympathetic look in advance.

“Yep. Went to The Magic Daddy for drinks.” Mackenzie says. Michi raises his eyebrows at the mention of the night club. It’s not far from where he lives; in fact, he thinks he walks past it to the metro station every morning. He’s never been there himself, but he’s heard stories. The place has a… reputation.

“Isn’t that a-“

“A male strip club? Yes.” Mackenzie snorts bitterly. “I go to a Zumba class to hit on hot chicks but guess what? Turns out they all think I’m gay. Can you believe it? It’s the 21st century and people are still fostering ancient stereotypes? Unbelievable.” Mackenzie shakes his head and at this point Michi isn’t sure what his course mate was angrier about: that his plans to seduce athletic women backfired because they believe him to play for the other team or that they believe so in the first place, just because he started going to a widely female-dominated gym class. In the latter case, Michi feels for him. In the former, not so much. He has no time to request for elaboration, however, as Mackenzie is quick to continue, as indignant as before.

“Her boyfriend works there as a bouncer. Terrific guy, about the size of the Empire State Building.” The empty hallway reverberates with Michi’s laughter. “So thank you, Michi, but that would be the last time I take the advice of a prudish soldier boy who’s probably still a virgin. Should’ve listened to Kevin…” he says and gives Michi a cold stare before turning his attention back to the gym class in front of them.

The truth is, Michi  _ had _ initiated the idea, but mostly as a joke, and in his defence, he couldn’t have known it would have the opposite effect of what was desired.  _ It worked out so well for us _ , Michi thinks to himself and looks down to hide the fond smile that has found its way to his lips.

And it is true that he graduated from the Air Force Academy before he enrolled for the open university massage therapy course on which he met Mackenzie, but he cannot imagine what his military education has to do with his ability to give decent advice, nor with his sexual energy. Mackenzie assuming soldiers are  _ prudish _ just proves he’s never set foot near any kind of military institution. However, correcting Mackenzie would most likely result in awkward enquiry for further details, which Michi would rather not share, so he just laughs, pats Mackenzie on the shoulder and tells him he’ll maybe have better luck next time. Mackenzie mumbles something and Michi is not invested enough in the other guy’s problems with girls to ask what it was. He continues observing the action behind the glass wall in front of them and is seconds away from letting his thoughts wander until Mackenzie speaks again.

“Is this where you always disappear after lectures? To spy on unsuspecting freshmen girls? Didn’t know you had that in you, dude,” Mackenzie says trying to sound disapproving, but the tone in his voice reveals that what he’s really thinking is  _ damn, how come I didn’t think of this myself? _

Before he realises, Michi feels his cheeks heat up and instantly curses his fair complexion for probably revealing his embarrassment in nanoseconds. To Michi’s tragedy, Mackenzie is more attentive than he may lead you to believe.

“Ooh! So, which one is it? I bet it’s the one from their left, isn’t it?”

Michi closes his eyes and suppresses a laughter.  _ Oh god, are were really doing this _ now _? _

He shakes his head.

“That one with the purple top on the front row? That brunette next to her? That ginger sipping from her bottle right now?” Michi keeps shaking his head.

“Oh, come on!” Mackenzie cries out in frustration, causing Michi to finally crack up.  _ Wow, this is more fun that I thought it would be _ .

“At least tell me which one you prefer? The one on our left or theirs?” Mackenzie pleads, as if offering a compromise.

Michi opens his eyes and looks for the girls Mackenzie refers to. Once his eyes find them, he allows himself to study them for a minute. The other one has dark brown hair and a slim waist, dark brown eyes framed by black eyeliner. The other is blonde, and Michi can sort of see inside the front of her top when she crouches to lift her barbell.

A corner of Michi’s mouth jerks upwards when he finally says:

“Neither.”

Because yes, this is where Michi comes when he’s done with the lectures and training of the day.

But he’s not there to look at the girls, no.

He’s looking at the guy at the front.       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mackenzie has no idea.. Do you? ;)
> 
> tumblr: [theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	10. The Pilot: Krafti (1.10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krafti's milkshake brings all the girls to the yard...

Krafti loves his job.

He still remembers the first time someone came to him after a class, confessing how coming to his weekly core workout has helped her through some dark times; he had been so moved he almost cried. Being able to affect people’s lives is what helps Krafti through  _ his _ dark times. To help people improve and maintain their physical and mental well-being, to first-handedly witness the progress they make, to make them sweat their arses off trying to outdo themselves, and to see the look on their face when they do – that’s what truly makes it worth getting up at stupid o’clock for a morning BodyPump session or staying at the studio until 9 PM for a foam roller class when all his friends are hanging out together watching football without him.

It almost makes it worth pulling his hair out at 3 AM trying to find the perfect songs for the playlists he uses in his classes. Luckily Krafti knows a guy who knows a guy who’s a professional DJ, to whom he has been able to delegate some of the workload in exchange for the Neapolitan wafers Krafti’s family’s business is famous for. Krafti thinks nights at home have become much more peaceful ever since this development (the neighbours downstairs, however, would beg to differ if they were asked).

And to have a whole gym full of people mimicking every move he makes? Having that kind of power just makes Krafti feel like a god.

“UP!” he shouts, and twenty heads bounce up. “And all…the way…back…down,” he deliberately prolongs their way back to a squat and grins when he sees some of the women pulling a face because of the burning in their thighs – another reason Krafti enjoys this job.

“Okay, put the barbell down carefully, shake your legs a little, take a sip if you need and get ready for the toughest bicep workout of your life, ladies!” As Krafti is changing the plates on his bar, he catches a glimpse of a familiar blond head peeking from the glass door of the hall. His lips twitch but he turns his face away from the door to cool himself down because being a fitness instructor is a lot like being a teacher – the “students” will notice if you’re not one hundred percent into it. Distractions are, thus, to be avoided. That, and Krafti likes to tease.

“Alright, ladies, are you ready?” he turns back to the class, waits for the beat, and begins the bicep sequence.

 

-

 

“Thank you, girls, that was beautiful, see you next week!” Krafti concludes the final stretching and starts to collect his things. It was his last class of the week and even if he truly loves what he does, the weekend never comes too soon. Tonight is for relaxing and letting out the extra energy he always gets after a workout, but for Saturday he’s planned a weekend trip to visit his parents. He just needs to sell the idea to someone first.

“Thanks for the class, Krafti!” says a female voice from behind his back. Krafti turns and is face-to-face with a golden-haired woman, probably a few years younger than her, holding her barbell in her hands. He doesn’t know her name but recognizes the face and recalls seeing her on numerous classes of his, occasionally asking for advice after the workouts.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Krafti replies with a wide smile, expecting her to go on. From the corner of his eye, he sees another head of golden hair turning away, and Krafti chuckles quietly as he hears a long, bored sigh from across the room. “Can I help you?” he finally asks the woman who’s been eyeing him curiously for a few seconds now.

“Yes! Could you please check my bend-over row? I feel like I’m doing it wrong,” the woman says with an exaggerated frown. From what Krafti has seen over the weeks she’s been going to his pump class, the woman has been doing the bend-over row (and more or less every other move too) pretty much flawlessly. He knows what’s up. The woman smiles at him innocently, and it’s not like Krafti can say no; this is just one part of the job description.

“Sure, bend over and let’s see!” he says maybe a little louder than he intended. The woman does as she’s told and Krafti gives her a few suggestions on how to perfect her posture. When they’re done and say their final  _ see ya _ , Krafti sees the doorway is empty.

 

-

 

On his way out of the building, someone grabs the sleeve of his hoodie. Krafti turns to see the same woman who moments earlier had approached him after the class, now with two other girls from the class tagging along, all three wearing cheerful smiles on their faces.

“Hey! So, what’s the plan for the weekend?” she asks as they step out in the fresh air. Krafti shrugs and struggles in keeping his poker-face when he sees a sombre man leaning against a car, arms folded across his chest, hair almost glowing as the sunbeams caress it.

“Not sure yet,” Krafti answers and leans against a stone pillar while the girls unlock their bikes, turning his back to the man. 

“Uhuh? Cause we were thinking, we’re having this start-of-summer hangout – very informal, kinda like a picnic! – down by the lake and we thought you could maybe..join us? If you want to?” the blonde gives him a hopeful smile while the other two look at each other in a way Krafti would describe as “knowingly”. Krafti  _ totally _ knows what’s up.

“You mean tonight?” he asks and the girl nods enthusiastically, “Ah, thanks for the invitation but, umm… I was kinda looking forward to just staying in, you know? Been a long week and all,” he chuckles. The girl is cute, he admits, and seems sweet, so he doesn’t have the heart to come up with a lie about a headache or plans he had “forgotten about”.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I totally get it! Have fun!” the girl splutters, face turning red. Krafti waves his hand in a goodbye and leaves the girls by the bike racks, vividly whispering to each other.

Walking towards the blond man waiting by his car, Krafti finally allows a smile find its way to his lips. He sees the man’s posture soften already, although his face remains blank.

“Hi.” he says and widens his smile when the other man’s lips tremble for a few seconds in attempt to keep them in a straight line, until the ice finally melts.  _ Having that kind of power just makes Krafti feel like a god. _

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?” the man mutters.

“Do what?”

“That,” the blond says, nodding his head towards the three girls still gathered at the bike racks, now discreetly looking at the two men.

“Michi, it’s my job,” Krafti says, half amused, half annoyed.

“I know,” Michi says, looking down, kicking the pebbles at his feet.

Krafti walks closer. It  _ is _ his job and he knows he’s done nothing wrong, but maybe the joy he takes in being a tease is a little uncalled for sometimes. In his defence and according to previous experiments, though, the rest of the day should be fun for both of them.

Krafti is now standing in front of Michi, so close that the fronts of their hoodies are almost touching. He looks up at Michi’s face, already softened with a light blush colouring his cheeks.

“Mom called this morning,” Krafti murmurs.

“Yeah?” Michi says absent-mindedly, eyes travelling south of Krafti’s eyes.

“She wants to know when her favourite son-in-law is coming for a visit.”

Michi pouts and shrugs. “Tommy’s a busy guy, I guess..”

Krafti rolls his eyes affectionately while Michi’s mouth curves in a bashful smile.

“I told her we’re coming on Sunday. That alright?” he asks, playing with the strings of Michi’s hoodie. The whispering behind them intensifies.

“Alright,” Michi says and continues, eyes twinkling: “What about tonight?”

Krafti rises on his toes so that his face is almost on the same level with Michi’s. He can feel Michi’s breath on his lips, noses barely touching.

“I don’t know,” he smiles, “what do you have in mind?”

Krafti just sees Michi raise his eyebrows before closing his eyes and the gap between their lips, the skin on the back of his neck melting under the touch of gentle hands that have found their way there. A loud gasp could be heard near the bike racks, though not by Krafti; he’s long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and Michi is like _fuck off_. 
> 
> Surprise kraftböck, except that it really isn't a surprise to anyone except for the fact that they're married already! 
> 
> The next chapter will wrap up this "pilot episode" (because in my head this is a sitcom TV series), and THEN we'll get down to the _real_ business. Stay tuned! :) 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr: [theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	11. The Pilot: Conclusion (1.11)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, Kamil's living room is the place to be. Meanwhile, Johann is still mad about the bike. Will he get it back, or does he get something more in the process?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first "episode" that I've been calling, imaginatively, _The Pilot_ (or: _The One With Johann's Bike_ ). The next chapter will start a new "episode".
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting, both here and on Tumblr! <3
> 
> Thank you to [Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose), the best beta reader a woman could wish for.

”No.”  
  
”Johann..”  
  
”I said no.”  
  
”Don’t be rude,” Selena scolds Johann and glances apologetically at Kamil, who had been the only one brave enough to venture from across the hallway to talk to Johann.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Kamil rushes to say, “I understand. Just know that you two are welcome to join us if you change your mind. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he smiles as if he was giving his heartfelt condolences on the loss of someone’s 99-year-old grandmother. Selena nods and strokes the back of Johann’s neck.

“You hear that, Danny? We’re starting without you,” Kamil raises his voice and looks up to the direction of Danny’s bedroom. He waits until he hears a barely audible ‘ _in a minute’_ from behind the closed door before he returns to his own living room.

Once there, Kamil does a quick counting of heads to notice Danny’s not the only one late to the occasion.

“Are Michi and Krafti not here yet? Did you talk to Michi?” Kamil asks Andi, whom he had entrusted with the task of informing the newly-weds upstairs that Kamil would be hosting one of his much anticipated Sky Sports evenings tonight, a beloved tradition amongst their circle of friends. Many joys and disappointments have been shared in this room watching various sports, save for football, which, they have all agreed, is best enjoyed separated into smaller parties according to the teams supported, as not all of them support Liverpool ( _which is totally fine, no one’s perfect!_ he once said to Fannis, patting him on the shoulder encouragingly). However, football is not on the schedule tonight, which means it’s safe for everyone to pop in, including Michi and Krafti, who — for general safety — should not be allowed in the same room whenever FC Barcelona and Bayern München are playing. Sometimes Kamil genuinely wonders what brought them together, but at the same time can’t help but admire how they’re so completely smitten with each other despite their differences.

“Yeah, he said they’d be here,” Andi shrugs and continues leafing through the TV guide.

“Maybe they’re not home yet?” Richi chips in from the kitchen where he’s filling large bowls with crisps and popcorn, accompanied by Robert and Einar-André, one of them a little less helpful than the other, contributing mostly by tearing the empty plastic packaging into tiny pieces on the carpet.

“Oh, they most definitely are home,” says Kenny, whose misfortune is having his bedroom located directly below Michi and Krafti’s.

Kamil smiles and assumes the two will show up when it suits them, and sure enough, five minutes later Michi and Krafti enter the apartment, messy-haired and giggling like teenagers. They sit on the sofa, and after three intense rounds of rock-paper-scissors between Kenny, Robert and Fannis, the last-mentioned slouches to join the pair on the sofa while the other two occupy the remaining arm chairs.

“Is there any news about the bike?” Kamil hears Richi ask from no one in particular. He thinks back to his encounter with Johann earlier that day, how upset Johann had been, and how the sudden appearance of Kamil’s new raffle prize had seemed to only make matters worse. Kamil genuinely hopes the whole mess will be sorted out sooner or later, although something tells him the disappearance of the bike is only one part of Johann’s misery.

“Nope. Johann’s been in a mood the whole day, I’ve heard,” Robert says.

“His insurance will cover it though?” Kamil asks hopefully.

“Actually,” Fannis joins the conversation, “they sent someone from the insurance company to have a look at what’s left of the bike and apparently it wasn’t locked according to their standards, so..”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and it was so expensive they would’ve probably refused to cover the whole prize anyway,” Kenny adds.

“Right..”  

“So. Yeah.” Fannis mumbles and an awkward silence fill the room. They honour the memory of Johann’s SJ Planica 7000 until Danny arrives, smiling like he’s auditioning for a Pepsodent commercial.

“Woah, what’s the tragedy? Did Kamil forget to pay the cable bill?” he asks cheerfully and takes a seat on a fluffy floor cushion next to Andi, grabbing the TV guide from him in the process.

“More like did his daddy forget to pay the bill,” Andi chirps, and a few others join in the snickering.

“I’m sorry, are we here to discuss my financial abilities or did you want to watch some sports?” Kamil fires back with a patient smile, to which Andi responds by maturely sticking his tongue out.

Hearing no further objections, Kamil picks up the remote controller and starts browsing through the channels.

“Let’s see, we have golf...boxing...nascar, aaaand...snooker.”

A good ten seconds is spent looking at each other questioningly.

“Golf it is then..right?” Michi looks around for supporting arguments.

“Ugghhhhh,” Richi groans.

“Boxing’s kinda cool, don’t you think?” Robert offers.

“Yeah, no, I still have nightmares from the last time, did you see the guy’s face?,” Krafti says and leans against Michi’s chest.

“Well it’s not gonna be nascar either because I ain’t gonna mess up my sleeping schedule by falling asleep at seven in the evening,” Kenny complains.

“Guess we’re watching snooker then! Who knows, maybe it’s the match of the year?” Kamil says and puts the remote back on the coffee table, cheered on by a choir of unhappy moaning and long sighs.

“Huh, they’re re-showing _Dirty Dancing_ on channel eleven,” says Danny, eyes still fixed on the TV guide in his hands, patently oblivious to the ongoing debate.

Another round of quizzical looks is shared among the ones present.

In approving silence, Kamil reaches for the remote once more and switches to channel eleven.

  


-

  


“Are you sure you don’t wanna go? Maybe it’d help you take your mind off..you know,” Selena doesn’t dare mention the word ‘bike’ within Johann’s earshot at this point of the day that’s been filled with calling various places and answering their frustrating questions, sending out ‘MISSING’ messages on social media and combing through dozens of resale websites. They both had ended up skipping their morning classes to take care of these initial measures, but so far their efforts had been in vain; Johann’s bike was no more and there’s nothing that could be done about it.

“I still can’t believe they won’t cover it,” Selena sighs. She wishes she could forget Johann’s face when the man from the insurance company broke the news: in addition to the one U-lock he had used to lock the front wheel to the rack, he should’ve had another lock to keep the frame of the bike attached to one of the wheels. “ _Sorry”_ , the man had said and Selena had called bullshit, but before she could open her mouth the man got back into his black Mercedes and cruised off like a hearse carrying Johann’s hopes and dreams.

“We’ll find you a new one, okay? And why can’t you just use Kamil’s in the meantime? He promised you could.”

Johann mutters something under his breath, something that doesn’t sound very friendly to Selena, but she purses her lips and decides to ignore it, using the same logic Kamil did earlier; it’s been an exhausting day for Johann. She observes her boyfriend who keeps staring straight ahead, showing no signs of dropping the frown that’s been painted on his face the whole day.

“Johann,” she speaks with her softest voice that only Johann gets to hear, “you know it’s _just_ a bike, right? Not the end of the world.” She gently strokes Johann’s cheek as she speaks, making sure he understand she’s not dismissing his feelings altogether, but merely asking him to put things into perspective.

“It’s not just about the bike,” he replies quietly.

“Well, if it’s about the picnic then we can have it another time, can’t we? We have all the time in the world,” Selena lets out a small laugh. “Or just have one right now, if you’re still up for it?” A small basket full of cupcakes Selena had brought with her hoping it would lift Johann’s spirits lays untouched on the coffee table.

“Not sure I am.”

“Okay? So you’re just gonna sit here feeling sorry for yourself for the rest of the night?”

Johann says nothing.

“Fine! I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I can still make it to my pilates class.” Selena gets off the sofa and glances at the clock on the wall; it’s quarter to seven.

“I’ll take your coat, it’s cold out there.” is the last thing she says before disappearing in the hallway, and Johann is left alone in the apartment.

Johann sinks deeper into the sofa, closes his eyes and sighs. _It really, really,_ really _is not about the bike_ , he should’ve said. _It’s about you and us and how I had this ridiculous plan I had been building up the courage to carry through for months and now it’s all ruined_. Instead, he had managed to upset Selena too, and with all his flatmates spending the evening across the hallway, Johann must settle for spending the evening in his miserable solitude, which is quite far from his original intentions.

Johann wallows in self-pity for about ten minutes until the doorbell rings.

He opens the door to find Selena standing in the hallway.

Wearing his duffelcoat.

Holding a small box covered in sapphire blue velvet in her hand.

The box he had put in the left front pocket of the coat that morning, with all the unsuspecting confidence he had, just so he wouldn’t forget it,

“Johann, what’s this?” Selena asks with a serious face.

Cold sweat forms on Johann’s forehead. This is _so_ not how Johann had planned it to happen. Not like this, and definitely not here, at the door of his flat. Yet, he hears himself answer:

“Open it.”

Selena opens the box.

She looks at its insides, then at Johann.

And finally, she smiles.

“Yes.”

  


.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~*~ OUTRO ~*~

  


 

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this on Saturday, but..” Kamil speaks as he leads the way to his apartment.

“No no no, _I’m_ sorry, Mr. Stoch. If I had realised it was _your_ shower that needed fixing I would’ve got it done in no time at all. I thought it was the rascals of the 18 again, I get apartments mixed up all time time..” Walter rambles on with a conciliatory tone.

“It’s fine, Walter, don’t worry about it” Kamil says reassuringly. Although _Mr. Stoch_ hurt his ears, he brushes it aside and gestures Walter to step inside.

“Once they called about a clogged toilet. Guess what was in there? A Barbie doll! Do any of them even have kids?” Walter shakes his head and Kamil pretends to scratch his nose to hide the grin he can’t fight back. He remembers the fairy toy someone got Danny for Christmas (only partially as a joke) and wonders about all the places it has been to and the things it has seen, even though Kamil’s not sure he wants to know any of that in great detail.

“This wa-” Kamil shows the way to the bathroom, but stops mid-sentence when he sees a strange man standing in the shower stall with an electric drill in his hand, eyes on a book Richi is holding open in front of him.

“Hello! Simon, nice to meet you,” the man offers Kamil his hand and Kamil shakes it, baffled. “I’m fixing your shower. The water pressure’s just a bit off, nothing that can’t be fixed with a little upgrade” he says, waves around a shower-head still in its plastic packaging, and goes back to work.

Beside him, Richi gives Kamil a victorious smile. “He’s fixing our shower,” he says with a shrug and shows Kamil the cover of the book. _DIY plumbing - 100 solutions to impress your roommates_.

“One of my best-selling books, a true classic, and only five tenners!” Simon points to the book with the screwdriver, “but you can have it for free as an introductory gift.”

“..Thanks,” says Kamil. His eyes move on to Richi, who seems pleased with himself, and back to observe this.. _Simon_ , allegedly fixing their shower. Where or how Richi found this guy, Kamil doesn’t even dare imagine, let alone ask. He doesn’t look like a plumber, that’s for sure, but how many plumbers has Kamil met in his life? Even less than a plumber the guy seems like a serial killer or an impostor, which is good enough for Kamil, but then again, how many of _those_ has Kamil met, as far as he knows?

Beside Kamil, Walter studies Simon’s every move attentively, asking detailed questions every now and then and showing no signs of suspicion towards Simon. _Well, as long as the shower’s getting fixed_ , Kamil thinks to himself, decides his presence is in no form required, and leaves the man to finish his work surrounded by his admirers.

Ten minutes later, Simon joins Kamil in the kitchen with Richi and Walter hot on his heels.

“All done!” he proclaims merrily. Kamil steps in the shower to witness the miracle himself and indeed, water flows from it with immaculate pressure. All of Kamil’s monetary offers are refused by Simon until he insist he buys one of Simon’s books he carries in his backpack. Kamil doubts he’ll ever open the literature classic _The Lower Gates_ undoubtedly is, but he couldn’t have let the man leave his apartment without being rewarded for his feat.

On his way out of the flat, Simon stops to look at a plastic golden statue of a flying eagle Kamil keeps on a shelf next to the door.

“You’re a pilot,” Simon notes, rather than asks.

“Yeah,” Kamil responds. The statue is the winner’s trophy for this playful turn-of-the-year tournament organized annually by the Trade Union for Professional Pilots — utterly unnecessary, Kamil thinks, and yet he participates every year. Not to win, he claims, but rather for the fun of it. It just happens he’s the reigning champion for two years in a row.

“Huh! I used to be too,” Simon says. “Never got one of those though, heh,” he laughs, and waves his hand in a goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I do not mean to offend anyone who enjoys watching golf, boxing, nascar or snooker on the telly. To each their own! 
> 
> 2\. 'Outro', as opposed to 'intro'. Think of it as the very last scene of an episode in sitcoms like Friends they show while the ending credits are already rolling on the screen.
> 
> 3\. Thought I had forgotten about the broken shower and the guy who could fix it? Think again!
> 
> 4\. Why is it Simon though, you might ask? Well, [marsilainen](http://marsilainen.tumblr.com/) showed me [this](https://ibb.co/h71Mhe) when I was looking for pictures for the slideshow and I thought it'd be hilarious. You can see his character description [here](https://ibb.co/jdjP2e) if you haven't watched the slideshow in fear of spoilers (I blurred a potential spoiler here, just in case), or have forgotten what it said for him. There's a link to the whole thing in the notes for the first few chapters I think. Most of the "spoilers" in the slideshow you have read about by now, so I might as well give you the original, much more spoilery version some time soon. :)


	12. The One With The Broken Wazon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all. But is there something else that gets broken in the process?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the introductions are over and done with, the rest of the chapters will be one-shots focusing on 1-2 characters at a time (more maybe a bit more than others) and they won't necessarily pick up where the previous one left off but they will, nevertheless, follow a general, bigger plot line that sews the story together. :) 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting so far! *mwah*

It isn’t that Andi doesn’t have anything more constructive to do; quite the contrary. He could be studying for the exam on musculoskeletal anatomy he has tomorrow, or he could be washing the dishes that have been piling up in the sink since last weekend and for what Richi has been harassing him at every possible turn. You could ask his mother, Mr. Schuster, Kamil, even Walter the janitor, and they could easily come up with at least ten things that should be higher prioritized on Andi’s to-do list.

However, none of those things are what Andi currently  _ is _ doing, which is shopping for ‘broken glass’ stickers with Danny at the local prank store.

“OH! How about this one?” Danny turns to him with another potential candidate in his hands. Andi takes the package and inspects it like a counterfeit banknote.

“Mmmhh, it doesn’t look realistic enough,” he finally voices his assessment. From the other side of the shelf, Andi can hear someone breath out heavily.

“None of these do,” Danny snorts and tosses the sticker assortment back in the clearance bin. “What if we just took one of them and, I don’t know, replaced it with some random vase?”

Andi stares at his friend for a while until a mischievous smirk slowly forms on his lips.

“Now,  _ there’s  _ an idea we can work on. I knew I befriended you for a reason,” he says with a quick boop on Danny’s nose and turns away just in time to not see Danny’s cheeks flare up in a pleased blush.

“Great, so we can move on now?” Kenny steps into sight from behind the shelf with a look on his face that says “no” is not the correct answer here.

“If you find shopping so objectionable then why didn’t you just stay home?” Danny challenges his roommate, who stares back at Danny like a knight ready to draw his sword to attack someone for insulting his mother, and suddenly Andi wishes they  _ were _ home so that he could grab a bowlful of popcorn to munch on while witnessing the upcoming duel.

“We were supposed to go look for engagement presents, remember?” Kenny pronounces the last word exaggeratingly slowly and clearly, as if there truly was something wrong with Danny’s memory, understanding or hearing (or all three). He’s right though; one unemployed, one a university drop-out and one an indebted student, the three of them had decided to join their financial forces in buying a little something to congratulate Johann and Selena for putting a ring on it. They had agreed on getting them a set of those cheesy ‘His’ and ‘Hers’ face towels or something else sickeningly sweet and  _ so them _ , and Andi had welcomed the small break to his revision session that almost had him losing it (and which he really is going to finish as soon as he gets home, thank you very much). But the sudden urgency to finally carry out The Great Wazon Prank Andi and Danny had felt when they walked past Jokes ‘R’ Us was completely unforeseeable and required immediate measures to be taken.

“Oh chill, the party’s not until Saturday,” Danny says, and Andi, the brave squire, looks at Kenny triumphantly because how could he possibly argue with that logic? Besides, Kenny does need to chill.

“Which is in two days,” says Kenny, with no chill in his voice.

“Plenty of time, then!” Danny exclaims, but another stern look from Kenny is enough to make the younger two accept the defeat and slouch out the door empty-handed. The next hour or so is spent by Kenny leading his troops from one giftshop to another and rejecting various considerable suggestions from the other two, such as “yay the same penis/vagina forever” mugs (“ _ Seriously, Danny? _ ”) and an inflatable duel combat set (“ _ Put them down, for Christ’s sake _ ”), until they finally settle for a package of socks with the text  _ SOLE MATES _ printed on the soles that even Kenny agrees are kind of cute.

On the bus ride back to Ferry Street, Andi and Danny come up with a battle plan: find a useless object made of glass and smash it into tiny, unrecognizable shards, take one of Kamil’s favourite  _ wazons _ (this is the trickiest part, as they’re all identical), put it into temporary storage in Andi’s closet that no sane person would voluntarily want to open, pile the glass chips on the floor next to the shelf where Kamil keeps his collectibles, wait for the man himself to come home from work, and finally witness the undoubtedly hilarious hysteria that is sure to follow. Why? Because Andi has heard a sharp “ _ Do not touch the wazons _ ” every time he so much as glances towards Kamil’s bedroom so often in the past two years that by now he’s grown curious as to what would be Kamil’s reaction if something happened to any of his cherished vases. That, and Andi just happens to love playing pranks; it’s not like he would ever damage his friend’s property for real. Lots of giggling and whispering is involved in discussing the details of this plan, receiving disapproving looks from fellow passengers (save for a young man sitting two rows behind them, tiredly rubbing his forehead).

“Wanna go do it right now?” Andi asks Danny at the door of his flat, because he’s just itching to put the prank into effect as soon as possible and most preferably when Kamil’s not home, never mind the fact he won’t until the next day.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Danny says and winks, but before he could follow Andi inside, Kenny grabs him by the sleeve, pulls him in their apartment instead and slams the door on Andi’s face.

Andi stays put in the hallway and genuinely tries to not listen to the discussion his neighbours are having on the other side of the closed door, but he can’t help himself. He thinks he can make out the words  _ job-hunting _ and  _ responsibility  _ from Kenny’s speech, followed by Danny’s  _ I’m a big boy  _ before the door opens again and out walks Danny with an unnecessary loud  _ BYE _ , considering Kenny’s standing right behind him.

“Everything okay?” Andi asks with worry in his eyes. He would hate it if his friends were squabbling because of him.

“Uh-huh,” Danny smiles and whips his golden hair from his eyes. “Shall we?”

“If you have other things to do we can—“

“I don’t. Let’s go,” Danny interrupts him and steps past Andi. It doesn’t seem like Danny’s up for explaining what Kenny’s tirade had been all about, and Andi  _ really _ can’t wait to get on with his master plan, so he strides inside after his partner in crime.

-

Shattering the glass was the easy part. But finding glass that was worthless enough to be broken, yet resembled the original  _ wazons _ enough in colour and thickness that it would fool Kamil was what quickly proved to be quite a challenge even for Andi and Danny. Richi had offered no help in this process, quietly observing their every move from his armchair as the two rummaged the cupboards, turning the whole kitchen into a tableware exhibition. At last, their efforts were rewarded, as Andi discovered a large glass container that Kamil’s late great-aunt – the previous resident of the apartment – had probably used for preserving pickles. Andi dug the jar from behind several pots and pans that look like the remainders of the said great-aunt and held it ceremoniously up in the air while Daniel cheered on with slow claps. With Richi’s blessing, the jar was accepted as a sacrifice to the gods of pranksters and mischief, broken into sharp fragments of glass that could easily be mistaken for those of an authentic  _ wazon _ . After thorough calculations, the smithereens were placed carefully on the floor, approximately where the outermost vase would land if someone accidentally shoved it off the shelf.

And that’s when it all starts going terribly wrong.

“What could be so special about  _ these _ ?” says Danny as he picks up one of the  _ wazons  _ after they are finished with their mission. Andi snortles and imagines Kamil’s heart instinctively skipping a beat, sensing a potential insult or belittling towards the  _ wazons _ even ten kilometres up in the air. He takes the vase from Danny and studies it up close.

“My best guess is that he uses them in some creepy midnight rituals,” he smirks.

“You mean when Eve’s visiting?” Danny raises his eyebrow and gently pushes Andi, still holding the vase, to lay on his back on Kamil’s bed. Then he climbs on the bed himself and sits on top of him, one knee on either side of Andi’s hip. Andi raises an eyebrow in response and lets Danny take the  _ wazon  _ off his hands to place it next to them on the bed. Danny lowers himself on top of Andi, and before he realises what’s happening, Danny brings his face close enough to Andi’s so that he can hear Danny whisper:

“What kind of rituals?”

Andi takes a sharp breath.  _ Well, shit _ .

Although Andi has only himself to blame, the situation is getting a little too heated for his comfort. First of all, they are in _Kamil’s bedroom_ , of all the places. Kamil would most likely banish him not only from the apartment but from the whole town if it came to his knowledge that Andi and Danny had been banging right in front of his precious _wazons_ , which is a risk Andi would not care to take. The other problem is that they are, quite obviously, sober; never have Andi and Danny ever fooled around while not pissed out of their heads, and Andi’s not sure he’s ready (or willing) to deal with the awkwardness of the aftermath.

Andi stares into Danny’s darkened eyes and clears his throat.

“Probably…worshiping the  _ wazon _ gods?” Andi instantly bites his tongue because it’s silly, but it’s the best that he can come up with at the moment. Luckily, it makes Danny crack up and roll off Andi to lie on his side, head resting on his hand. The tension seems to have passed and the two lie side by side for a while until Danny speaks again.

“So…my parents are making me go to this stupid dinner party with them next week,” he says and rolls his eyes.

“Ugh,” Andi says sympathetically, because he’s heard Danny talk about those parties before, filled with pretentious bigwigs and superficial small talk about the best hors d'oeuvre recipes or polo.

“Yeah, it’s this charity thing and mom wants me to go because apparently she’s been telling everyone I’m taking a gap year to do voluntary work.”

“That...doesn’t sound too bad?” Andi says hesitantly. He’s unsure of what Danny’s response is going to be, but his concern is in vain, as Danny dodges his insinuation altogether.

“Anyway, I was wondering…” he continues as if Andi never said anything, picking the pills off Kamil’s bedspread, “…if you’d want to come with me? I’d just  _ love _ to see everyone’s faces bringing a guy as my avec,” he finishes with a chuckle, avoiding Andi’s eyes.

_ Oh _ .

Andi should’ve seen this coming. And later that night, when Andi thinks back to the events of the day, he realises that maybe he  _ had _ seen it coming, if he was completely honest. He had just ignored it and thought (quite naively, he now understands) that it would be enough of a hint for Danny. It’s painfully obvious his strategy had failed on him, as there Danny was, asking him out on a date.  _ Is _ it a date? Or is Andi just overthinking it, and it actually is what Danny tells it to be; an escapade or a ridiculous prank to get a reaction from his family, just like the one they are currently committing with the  _ wazons _ .

“Oh. Umm,” he mutters as he’s trying to find the right words to find answers to his questions. “Would it be…like…a date?”  _ Well, that was super subtle, bravo. _

“Do you want it to be?” Danny asks quietly and purses his lips together. He lifts his gaze to meet Andi’s, but only for a fraction of a second before turning his attention back to the duvet, as if afraid he’ll turn into stone if he looks Andi in the eyes for too long.

“Well,” Andi says to buy some time until he comes up with a sensitive way to say  _ thanks but no thanks _ . Unfortunately for Andi, patience has never been his virtue, and so he blurts out: “I think maybe we should just be friends.”

Danny’s fingers stop fumbling with the fabric of the bedspread, but he shows no other reaction to Andi’s rejection.

“You’re right,” Andi can barely hear Danny say as he starts getting off the bed.

“I mean…”

“No, I get it,” Danny says quickly and strides across the floor and out of the room.

“Danny, wait, I didn’t—” Andi swings himself off the bed and stands up with the intention to go after his friend, but a loud crash stops him in his tracks.

Andi doesn’t dare look.

Danny appears in the doorframe with the face of someone who’s just seen a ghost.

“Was that—" he speaks but is silenced as his eyes move from Andi’s equally horrified face to the floor.

“Please tell me that wasn’t—” Richi rushes to the door and immediately turns his face away after having caught a glimpse of the tragedy that has occurred.

One of Kamil’s  _ wazons _ – the one they had foolishly removed from its safe haven on the shelf – was lying at Andi’s feet, broken in half.

Danny (looking like he’s on the verge of tears) closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and flees from the crime scene.

Andi (still in shock of what has just happened) covers his mouth with his palm and looks for Richi’s eyes for emotional support.

Richi (who was having a quite decent day up until now) shakes his head and sighs.

“Boy, you’re in trouble.”

That he is. But which one of his troubles should worry him the most, Andi’s not sure.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~*~ OUTRO ~*~

 

 

Andi swears his heart stopped for solid three seconds when he saw Kamil appear in the hallway through the peephole.

“He’s coming, HE’S COMING!”

“Distract him!” Richi’s head peeks from behind Kamil’s bedroom door.

“Is it done yet?” Andi asks with desperation and sheer panic in his voice.

“No, don’t let him in here!” Richi shouts back and slams the door closed just as Kamil unlocks the front door. Andi thinks that if aliens exist, now would be the perfect timing for them to abduct him.

“Hey, how’s it going, buddy?” Kamil smiles at him wearily.

“Good! Very well! Perfect!” Andi stutters maybe a little too enthusiastically. He leans against a kitchen chair to maintain a relaxed look while hoping Kamil doesn’t notice the entire chair trembling under his touch.

“Okay,” Kamil laughs and looks at him with squinted eyes.  _ Crap, crap, CRAP.  _ Andi has  _ got _ to get his shit together and act normal.

“How…was…work?” Andi asks and internally facepalms, because he has never asked Kamil  _ how was work? _ before. It’s not that he isn’t interested, but for some reason they just never talk about Kamil’s work, which is more Kamil’s decision than his. Fortunately, Kamil seems too exhausted to have picked up anything unusual in his inquiry.

“Not bad,” Kamil yawns, “but I could use a nap right now.”

“A nap! Yes!” Andi shrieks loudly enough for his voice to be heard across the living room and behind Kamil’s closed bedroom door. “But first, can you…there’s ermmm…a centipede.”

“A centipede?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Again?”

Andi nods with a grave face. Kamil sighs.

“Can’t Richi do it?”

“He’s not home.”

Kamil looks sceptical again.

“I thought I heard his voice when I came in.”

“It must have been the TV.”

“It’s not even…” Kamil gestures towards the turned off TV. “Andi, what’s going on? I’m super tired and all I want to do is go have a nice, long nap in my bed, so please—” Kamil takes a step towards his room but is pulled back by Andi grasping his arm.

“A centipede invasion is what’s going on, let’s go!” he whimpers and forcefully drags Kamil to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, Andi steps back in the living room, furtively glancing around the apartment. Behind him, Kamil is rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“I swear there were like five in there,” Andi insists once he’s checked the route is clear.

“Yeah, well, they’re all gone now, so I’m gonna—oh, hi Richi,” Kamil greets his flatmate, wiping the kitchen counter. “And Simon,” his eyes move on to Simon, sitting at the kitchen table reading a book titled  _ How to fix a glass vase and 1001 other ways to maintain peace in the household _ . Polite smiles are exchanged, and brief small talk is performed, and by the time Kamil finally sees it fit to retire to his room, the back of Andi’s T-shirt is soaking with cold sweat.

“Did it work out?” he asks the two men in the kitchen the second Kamil closes the door behind him.

“Surprisingly well,” Simon says smiling, but the look in his eyes tells Andi otherwise. Behind Simon, Richi is shaking his head. Andi groans.

“Well, if there’s nothing else I could do for you today..,” Simon sets his book on the table and Andi mouths a silent  _ thank you _ as Simon gets up and walks out of the apartment.

The next few minutes are probably the longest in Andi’s life, or at least since the time he was six and sitting in the hallway outside a labour ward with his grandmother, waiting for a nurse to open the door and announce he was now a big brother.

At last, Andi hears a door open behind him, but instead of a young woman with good news, there’s a thoughtful-looking flatmate standing in the doorway. He’s holding a glass vase with several superglue smudges and a crack probably visible from the moon.

“Nice knowing ya!” Richi salutes Andi before abandoning the sinking ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Danny, poor Andi! (And poor anyone who has to put up with them, haha!) 
> 
> Is this the end of tandlinger? Are they going to stay friends or will it be too awkward? Is there anything Simon _can't_ fix? Keep reading and find out. :)
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr: [theflyingfeeling](http://theflyingfeeling.tumblr.com/)


	13. The One With Richi's Moustache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...in which Richi makes a drastic decision and Robert is a drama queen. 
> 
> (This is just very silly and sappy.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single nice comment/kudos/like/reblog warms my old heart. <3 I cannot tell you how much your support means to me and I cannot thank you enough. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my gorgeous beta [Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose) who did a terrific job, once again. Be sure to check out her football RPFs y'all!

He didn’t do it on a whim, per se; he has been thinking about it for quite a while.

Because ever since his moustache was more than a few, barely visible fluffs above his upper lip, it’s been the one thing people first notice (and comment on) when they see him, and although he’s used to it by now, it kind of bothers him on some level — as if it’s _all_ that people see in him. It is also surprisingly high-maintenance and Richi has no idea how Robert does it, considering he’s had his handlebars for way longer than Richi _while_ running a successful business and how he has the time and energy to take care of both as well as he does is beyond Richi. Besides, crumbs, whipped cream and other food gets constantly smeared all over it at every meal he ever has, not to mention all the snot when he’s ill, and to be honest, it’s kind of itchy sometimes ( _That happens when you don’t use conditioner_ , Robert had reminded him on numerous occasions, often accompanied with a look that screams _Jesus, do I have to tell you everything?_ ).

And if Richi had a dollar for every time he had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror with a razor in his hand and a determined look on his face he’d have at least enough money to pay off his debt to Kamil who is always buying him (and about everyone else who tags along) drinks or dinner whenever they go out. But all those times he had chickened out and shoved it back in the bathroom cabinet before the blade touched one hair below his nose.

That is, until today.

When he’s finished and watches the remains of his moustache swirl around in the water in the bathroom sink until they disappear down the drain, a kind of sadness fills his mind. However, the momentary melancholy is soon swept away by genuine delight when he’s eating a grilled cheese sandwich and realises that there is no longer anything on his face where melted cheese could get stuck in and burn his upper lip in the process. This might just be the best decision Richi has made in his life so far.

The positive experience of eating melted cheese without struggles is, in fact, so great that Richi decides to make another sandwich. As he’s buttering a new bread he hears ambiguous noises from Andi’s bedroom, and moments later the young man himself stumbles into the kitchen, hair sticking out to all directions.

“I thought you’d be at campus by now,” Richi notes and puts the bread on the sandwich grill. He admires his new creation for a few seconds and decides to add a few more slices of cheese.

“Bloody alarm…” Andi mutters and grabs a spotty banana off the counter to shove it in his backpack while glancing longingly at Richi’s sandwich. Richi curses his soft-heartedness and the sweet spot he has for his younger flatmate’s puppy face which Andi has, much like a puppy, learnt to use for his advantage. Besides, Richi too should be getting ready to leave in a bit.

“You can have half of it,” Richi sighs.

“Thanks, bro— WOAH,” Andi takes a step back when his eyes leave the bread and move on to Richis face. “Who are you and what did you do to Richi?” he says, pointing the banana still in his hands towards Richi.

“Ha-ha,” Richi smiles and sits down at the kitchen table with his half of the sandwich.

“Just...wow. You actually did it? Oh, I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces, they’re gonna lose it,” Andi smirks and takes out his phone.

“Do you want that sandwich or not?”

“Say cheese!” Andi giggles. Richi hears the camera shutter sound go off and rolls his eyes.

“Quit it, will you.”  

“Oh, no, I’m documenting this!” Andi is tapping the screen of his phone for a few seconds before pitching in and starting to munch on the grilled bread with a self-satisfied grin painted on his face. The grin widens when Richi’s phone whistles a birdsong to signal a notification.

“What the— you posted it in the group chat?!”

“Just doing God’s work,” Andi beams.

“Well, you’re doing it in vain because no one’s gonna care, it’s not that big of a deal, okay? It’s just a moustache. _My_ moustache.” Richi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, surprised by how smooth it feels. It’ll take some time to get used to it, that’s for sure, but that is his business and his only — no other people’s opinions are needed nor asked.

“Whatever you say,” Andi says innocently, but the smug smile reappears when Richi’s phone starts tinkling with notification sounds. Richi just stares at Andi with his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to check his phone.

“It’s not about the moustache,” he says.

“You think so?” Andi raises an eyebrow.

“Besides, I don’t give a shit,” Richi claims.

“Sure,” Andi says and chuckles at something he sees on his phone screen.

Richi taps his fingers against the kitchen table and glares at Andi, who keeps laughing at his phone. Richi bites his lip. There’s another whistle. And another.

Richi is only a human.

He unlocks his phone and opens the group chat for his closest circle of friends.

 

 

“You’ve been making bets over my moustache?!”

“Over the lack of it, rather… Don’t look at me like that! I had nothing to do with it,” Andi says and, having finished his hurried breakfast, swings his backpack over his shoulder and takes one last, amused look at his phone before putting it in his pocket. “I gotta go now, so umm… Have a fun day at work? If you still have one to go to.” Andi says the last part under his breath and Richi barely hears it, but before Richi can ask him what he means by that, he’s out the door, flashing that smile of his that makes girls at campus swoon, his mother pinch his cheek, Kamil ruffle his hair, and Richi...suspicious.

He checks his notifications and sees there’s a new addition to the group chat.

Richi is an adult. He can do whatever he wants with _his own facial hair_ and is accountable about it to absolutely nobody. Robert is also an adult and understands this. This incident, which really is no incident at all, will has zero effect on their work relationship or Richi’s position in the business. He’ll go to work, do his thing, and everything will be just like it’s always been. There is no sensible reason for Richi to get nervous about facing Robert now.

 

_Right?_

 

-

 

“...And then he’s like _I can’t sleep on the couch bro, it’s got bedbugs_ . Like, THAT’S NOT EVEN HOW BEDBUGS WORK! If you have them in the couch you have them everywhere! And he took ALL the room in my bed and kept stealing my blanket AND HE HAD TWO ALREADY BECAUSE HE KEPT COMPLAINING IT’S TOO COLD! How can he be cold, he’s from the fucking north?! So I was freezing the whole night while _he_ was happily snoring under his three blankets. Yes, SNORING. Argh!”

“I see,” Robert nods. Ever since his current customer, Mr. Bickner, sat down on his chair for a quick trim, he’s been going on about his friend who, from what Robert can gather, is crashing at Mr. Bickner’s while his entire apartment is being renovated after catastrophic water damage. To be honest, Robert is not sure whether the man actually meant to come to his barbershop or the private therapist’s office next door, but he happened to have a free time slot due to a last minute cancellation and so he welcomed the man inside and began to work his magic on the man’s hair, despite Einar-André’s protests when Robert laid him down from his lap to a brand new dog bed, whose edgings the puppy is now chewing with displeased grumbling.

Not that Robert is paying much attention to his customer’s outburst anyway, he’s ashamed to admit. It’s very unlike him to have his mind elsewhere while working, but _that picture_ Andi posted in their group chat keeps invading his thoughts.

Was he surprised? Most definitely. He can’t believe Richi had the guts to do it, and Robert knows he’s not alone with this thought, even if his flatmates have been wagering on the point in time when Richi finally loses it (the stakes had gone high when Richi found out that some of their neighbours frequently refer to him as ‘the small one with the moustache’ to distinguish him from Robert, ‘the tall one with the moustache’, and Robert wonders what Richi’s nickname would be now, as ‘the small one’ is reserved for Krafti). Nevertheless, none of them could’ve anticipated it, least of all Robert, who truly had believed Richi was committed to the cause. That all seems foolish now, and Robert feels embarrassed for being so naive.

Did he feel betrayed? Very. Robert knows it’s not his place to do so, but he can’t help it. He knows that if Richi only had consulted him first, he could’ve talked him out of doing it. Robert has a comprehensive range of fantastic products in his shop and even more at home that can work miracles, and together they would’ve found an alternative solution; Robert would have been more than happy to give Richi his professional advice, had Richi asked him for help. But Richi never did.

And that’s what hurts Robert the most.

With these sombre thoughts, Robert finishes Mr. Bickner’s new haircut and is ready to collect the payment from him when Einar-André jumps from his bed and runs to the front-door, barking his sharp puppy bark at the incomer, a habit Robert has been partially successful in breaking.

“Hey buddy, it’s alright, just me,” Richi speaks softly and bends on his knee to scratch Einar-André behind the ear. Then he lifts his gaze towards the check-out counter. “Morning.”

Robert looks away.

“Is your bathroom shelf in need of restocking? We have a special offer for all our hairsprays this week,” Robert asks Mr. Bickner.

“Thanks, but I think Mackenzie’s allergic. God, I can’t wait to have him out of the house, I can’t do ANYTHING when he’s around,” the man snorts, shaking his head.

“Well, you know where to find us,” Robert says and sees the man out the door.

“Been a busy morning?” Richi asks when they’re left alone. It’s painfully obvious that Richi is going to pretend nothing has happened. Robert’s not falling for that.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to give Richi the silent treatment for too long, as Richi is quick to turn his attention to his first customer of the day. As Robert’s next one isn’t coming in for another twenty minutes, he puts Einar-André on a leash and takes him out for a walk around the block. Both of them could use some fresh air.

 

-

 

It’s closing time and Richi is worried.

There’s nothing unusual in the two of them not having much time for chatting during the day, especially if it’s been hectic. Today was not, however, and yet Robert has not uttered a single word to him since he started his shift. Richi had tried to start a conversation time after time, but Robert had kept his face expressionless and his mouth shut.

Richi takes out the mop from the cleaning closet and sighs. He glances at his employer, going through the day’s receipts at the counter. _Alright, Robert, I’ll give you one more chance_.

“When do you think the wedding’s gonna be?” he asks while sweeping.

Robert doesn’t reply.

“I mean, they don’t even live together yet, so probably not in a while, right?” Richi tries again.

No answer.

“Okay, what is your problem?” he snaps and tosses the mop to lean against one of the barber’s chairs. (Einar-André immediately sees his opportunity and attacks the floor cloth left unattended.)

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Robert looks Richi in the eyes for the first time today.

“About what?” Richi spreads his arms. Obviously he knows the answer, but two can play this game.

“You know what,” is the cold reply.

“Why should I have?” Richi is beginning to get frustrated. _This is ridiculous_.

Robert purses his lips against each other and looks out the display window. Richi rubs his eyes; he can’t believe they’re having this conversation.

“Robert, it’s just a moustache.”

“Is that what it is to you?” Robert raises his voice. Richi is not sure how his friend is expecting him to answer.

“What else could it be?” he asks, puzzled.

Robert doesn’t say anything for a while, so Richi shrugs helplessly and goes back to sweeping (after loosening Einar-André’s awl teeth off the mop ( _It’s soaked in detergent, you little idiot_ )).

If that fateful morning Richi had known what kind of reactions his attempts to take care of his personal hygiene (the key word being _personal_ ) and overall happiness would receive among his close relations, chances are he would never had touched the razor. Still, this only makes Richi even more annoyed, because what right do his friends have to treat him like this over a few tufts of hair under his nose? He does not dare imagine what his younger sister is going to do or say, and decides there and then he’s gonna have to either avoid facetiming her for a while or just wear a fake one until the real one grows back. His mother must not know either, as she’s terrible at keeping secrets.

Richi is exhausted.

“I thought we were in this together,” Robert finally says to the floor, so quietly that Richi is not sure he heard him correctly, so he asks:

“In what?”

“Are you thick? Do you have any idea how important it’s been to me to have someone share this all with? To have someone around who understands? To finally...not be the only weirdo with the crazy moustache,” Robert says and sniffs. Richi’s face softens.

It’s new and kind of fascinating for Richi to see the cool, mature and ever so professional Robert like this. Right from the moment when Richi started working for Robert, he has been admiring his employer for his self-confidence and how little he seems to care about what anyone thinks of him, and Richi wishes he had half of Robert’s determination for the things he loves. Never until now did he realise Robert would be just as unsure of life and his position in it as any of us. And Richi, of all people, doesn’t blame him.

“You’re not a weirdo,” he says and walks slowly to the counter.

“Buh,” Robert snorts.

(“Buff,” says Einar-André.)

Richi grins.

“And we _are_ still in this together,” he continues.

“Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?”

“ _‘A man might leave his moustache but the moustache won’t ever leave the man’,_ ” Richi says ceremoniously. He feels triumphant when he sees a smile creep on Robert’s face.

“That’s one of our mottos,” Robert says with pride in his voice.

“You taught it to me on my first day.”

They smile at each other, and it doesn’t feel awkward. Nothing ever does with Robert.

“So… I can keep my job and stuff?” Richi asks and punches Robert lightly on the shoulder.

“Well, someone’s gonna mop the floor, right?” Robert nods towards the sweeper and goes back to closing the cash register for the day, which is his cue for _now that’s enough of sentimentality for one day, back to work_. Richi laughs, because everything’s back to normal, at least here at RoBeard.

“And who knows, I might grow it back anyway.”

“Yes, and you can do that while taking out the trash too.”

Richi rolls his yes. _Definitely back to normal_.

“Or maybe..,” Richi shouts from the bathroom where he’s the pouring out the soap water down the drain. He can’t help a smile forming on his face. “...since it’s such a burden, why don’t you just get rid of it yourself?”

“NO.”

  
It was worth a shot.

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~*~ OUTRO ~*~

 

The familiar sound of a Champions League commentator fills the living room. That, and the even more familiar sound of Kenny and Danny picking up a fight with each other. _All’s well that ends well_ , Richi thinks, even if they were still arguing about that stupid bet.

“BEFORE, you dimwit! I said BEFORE SUMMER,” Kenny says through gritted teeth.

“Nope, I’m pretty sure you said ‘after’,” Danny says confidently. Next to him, Krafti is nodding his head. (Next to _him_ , Michi is biting his nails and shushing everyone from time to time because Barça is playing and he’s actually the only one who’s paying attention to the game by now.)

“I’m not giving you my money.”

“It was like twenty bucks anyway, let it go guys,” Fannis chirps in.

“Says the one with a steady income!” Danny fires back.

“Says the one who sleeps till noon..,” says Johann barely audibly.

“He’s right. Let it go, Danny. It’s not ethical to make bets on somebody else’s body parts,” Robert, always the voice of reason, says from the kitchen where he’s chopping carrots and celery to be dipped in a chili flavoured sour cream sauce. Richi and Robert exchange brotherly looks. _Good old Robert_.

“Look, I’m sorry guys. Can’t you bet on something else, huh?” Richi suggests.

“Yeah, like is ‘Johann ever gonna get his bike back’,” Krafti offers.

“HEY.”

“Or ‘what’s the real story behind the _wazons_ ’,” Robert shrugs.

“Don’t mention the _wazons_ ,” groans Andi, who’s been silently browsing his phone the entire evening. For once, Richi agrees with his younger roommate; if there was any sensibleness in the _wazon_ policy of their household before, it has gone completely out the window after the... _incident_ the other day, and although Kamil is working right now, Richi is sure the man somehow knows if his treasured glass ornaments are being talked about in his absence. Richi has no clue how but he knows it’s more than likely. He reckons it’s sort of a sixth sense for Kamil.

“Do you have to bet on _everything_?” Fannis says tiredly. Richi reaches an arm around him and pats his shoulder sympathetically. It’s not difficult for Richi to imagine the conversations that take place in his neighbours’ living room on a daily basis.

“Alright,” Kenny says, ignoring Fannis’ pleas, “I bet fifty bucks that you won’t find a job in the next four weeks.” Kenny and Danny stare at each other sternly.

“Thanks for having so much faith in me,” Danny gives a humourless laugh.

“Prove me wrong then.”

“Wanna make it a hundred?”

“Deal.”

The two men shake hands and Richi shakes his head. The moral of the story: do not underestimate the power of a moustache (or the lack of one).

 

 _Shit, that sounds like a RoBeard motto_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. And _THAT'S_ how you deal with a conflict like grown-ups! Take notes, Andi and Danny...  
>  2\. I take certain pride in the fact that I managed to write an entire chapter about Richi shaving his moustache without using the word 'shave' even once. My original idea was to do so without mentioning 'moustache' but that just wasn't happening so I gave up.  
> 3\. The usage of the words 'dollar' and 'buck' is not to imply this AU is set in a North American context. It's more a..figure of speech, if you will.  
> 4\. If you're wondering how much time and effort I spent on making those WhatsApp group convos the answer is 'I fear for my sanity'.  
> 5\. I may or may not be obsessed with combining bickmac and the 'there's only one bed' trope. Don't ask, I have no answers. Can someone write this though? I really need someone to write this, otherwise I'm gonna have to do it myself.  
> 6\. Will Richi grow his moustache back? Who will win the new bet - Danny or Kenny? Will Einar-André learn to be a good boy? Keep reading and find out. :)


	14. The One With The Speedos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Fannis. And what a day it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for all the nice comments and reblogs and stuff! You keep me inspired. 
> 
> I may not be able to update often but whenever I can, I will. Please know, that no matter how long my breaks will get, I'm not planning on leaving this story unfinished!
> 
> This chapter, as all the previous ones, was patiently beta read by [Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose). Any remaining typos, errors, etc. are mine.

When people ask what Fannis does for a living, he tells them he’s a lifeguard.

Which is what he _is_ , after all. It’s no exaggeration.

But when people’s responses are “Ooh, so you’re like a real-life superhero? That’s so cool!” and “Wow, look at you, living the Baywatch dream, eh? Catching hot babes in bikinis every day, eh, eh?” Fannis just smiles and nods.

Because that _is_ exaggeration. Fannis wishes his job was like that.

The unfortunate truth is that the demographic that makes up the majority of Slippy Seconds Swimming Pools’ customers is senior citizens, aged between 60 years and death (Halvor’s words, not Fannis’). Not that Fannis finds this a great inconvenience; he quite enjoys the calm morning shifts where the only noise disturbing his daydreaming is the gossip from the ladies’ water workout class on who has to get another hip surgery and the awkward but understandable flatulence from the men’s locker room (and Halvor’s dramatic gasps when he runs to Fannis’ booth for air). In the afternoons the place is taken over by the louder minority and the cause of Fannis’ chronic headache: families with small children. Fannis likes kids and enjoys spending time with his nephews, but his brother has clearly done something differently in parenting for raising two sons that bloody behave, or perhaps his family is missing the gene that makes children continuously scream their lungs out the second they enter the pool area until they’re forcefully dragged back to the showers by their stressed-out suburban parents.

So _no_ , Fannis doesn’t run around the beach like some sorta David Hasselhoff, save fair maidens from drowning and carry them back to the shore in his arms with the public shouting hooray and the mayor waiting for him with the Key to the City. What he does most days is help 84-year-old Bertha out of the pool because her ankle is still hurting from when she twisted it last week, and dive for half-blind Earl’s locker keys from the bottom of the pool. In addition, there’s lots of telling the kids not to run, putting bandages on the kids who do run and consequently hit their chin on the tiles when they fall, looking for their parents to take the now wailing Zaidyn or Kinsleigh home, and arguing with the parents about whether a bleeding wound is a hygiene risk or not. Occasionally, there are more serious incidents such as seizures or swallowing too much chlorinated water when Fannis actually gets to use all those skills he learned in lifeguard training (of which he’s quite proud) but so far he hasn’t been given a proper chance to perform any heroic deeds in real life. _Fortunately_ , Fannis should say, but _dear god_ does it get boring sometimes.

Which is why Fannis is doing what he is doing right now: competing for who can shoot a wet swim cap - using the speedos the pool rents out as a makeshift slingshot - the farthest. It was all Halvor’s idea.

“What’s the current record? By the rubbish bin?” Halvor asks as he cocks his weapon and trains it towards the end of the long hallway where their new favourite pastime takes place. They have experimented shooting with several different objects at hand, such as a flip-flop (too light), Fannis’ whistle (he didn’t like the idea of having it roll around the floor), and goggles (the lenses could easily break) until settling for a kids’ fish themed silicone cap rescued from the lost and found items, which, as the comparative test proved, had the best flying qualities while also being rubbery enough to stay exactly where it lands, making score-keeping a whole lot easier.

“No, I flung it almost past the equipment store room door, remember?” Fannis points to the estimated spot on the floor,  a good 7 metres from where the two men are standing. If the cap hadn’t taken such a high altitude, it would’ve flown even farther.

“Well, watch this,” Halvor smirks and stretches the speedos between his hands, the swim cap carefully nested inside. When his right hand lets go of the elastic fabric, Fannis and Halvor watch wide-eyed as it flings gloriously through the air and way past the equipment store door. It certainly would have been a record-breaking shot, had it not been disqualified afterwards (despite Halvor’s claims of unfairness) due to it never actually landing on the floor, but on the shoulder of a man who steps in to the corridor from one of the office rooms. He stops in his tracks, stares at the silicone lump on his shoulder for a moment and then at the two young men.

It is in rare occasions that Mr. Stöckl, head of the local culture and sports department, is seen at Slippy Seconds which is merely one of the branch offices under his supervision (and not even one of the most thriving ones). Therefore, to Fannis and Halvor, Mr. Stöckl is not just _a_ boss; he’s _the_ boss, whose infrequent visits are always ceremonial and circled on the calendar with a red marker accompanied by a dozen exclamation marks. Fannis cannot understand how he has forgotten Mr. Stöckl was supposed to be there that day, nor for the life of him can he remember whether the event in question was a staff meeting, a general inspection or a guided tour for important guests. In any case, there he was, and Fannis sincerely hopes it’s not because of any of those reasons, as he should definitely have been somewhere else than in the hallway playing Shoot the Speedos with the cleaning boy.

“Mr. Stöckl, I… We…” Fannis splutters and feels like his cheeks are about to burst in flames. “We were just…” he tries again, but his mind is completely blank. How could he possibly explain the situation without getting both of them fired?

By his side, Halvor stands still as if frozen, one hand squeezing the swimming trunks, knuckles turned white. The younger man recently had his part-time contract upgraded to a full-time one and has had only a few brief encounters with their superior so far. From what Fannis could tell, Halvor had been quite intimidated by Mr. Stöckl, so he isn’t expecting to get much help from the poor guy right now.  With the final remains of common sense and the instinct to protect himself and his job still left in his rapidly decreasing brain cells, Fannis rips the black cloth from his coworkers hand and tosses it behind his back, out of sight.

Mr. Stöckl closes his eyes and rubs his temple. His gradually greying hair sticks up where he touches it, and Fannis is not sure whether he sees correctly, considering they are standing quite a few metres apart, but he thinks there are furrows in the corners of Mr. Stöckl’s eyes that weren’t there the last time they met. It occurs to Fannis that the head of the department might have other worries than two unruly employees.

“Just… Go back to work, boys,” he sighs and slowly walks away from their sight, the swim cap still on his shoulder.

Halvor doesn’t need to be asked twice, and Fannis has never seen him sprint for his sponge mop so fast while practically diving in the men’s locker room. Seeing that the game is over, Fannis sees no other option for himself than go back to the pools to keep an eye on the water running class. If he can keep them open, that is.

 

* * *

 

_A cheese sandwich. No, a tuna sandwich. A cheese and tuna sandwich, yes. With tomato. And a little garlic, maybe? Oh, yes._

Fannis is slouching on his chair with glassy eyes, has been for quite a while. He got bored of watching over the water running after about five seconds and has since then been telepathically rearranging the decorative plants surrounding the pools according to their height, colour and freshness, trying to memorize all the European countries and, most currently, planning his next snack when he gets back home. His stomach growls as he mentally spreads green pesto on a freshly baked focaccia bread and closes his eyes in a blissful daydream.

He doesn’t know how long he’d been sitting there like that, nor how close he had been to falling asleep for real, but the sound of approaching footsteps on the wet tiles brings him back to his gloomy, sandwichless reality. It isn’t the _sound_ of the footsteps that woke him up, but the fact that there _were_ footsteps in the first place; for the five years Fannis has been working at Slippy Seconds, no one except for the handful of water running course participants have set foot in there at half past nine on a Monday. _Not one soul_.

It takes Fannis a few seconds to bring himself back to life, and when he’s about to turn his head to take a look at the miracle, he realises the faint splish-splash wasn’t the only noise he heard through his fantasies.

The person is speaking on the phone.

“Yeah, some mouldy spa was open so I used their shower. No, it’s fine, thought I’d go for a swim too while I’m here,” Fannis hears a male voice behind him. A cool breeze brushes his face as the guy strides past him, a towel on his shoulder and shorts hanging low on his hips. Lower than Fannis feels comfortable with.

But his problem is not with how low the guy’s shorts are — it’s the fact that he’s wearing them at all, which isn’t to say Fannis is a perv whose dream job is to be a lifeguard at a nudist beach (it isn’t, honestly). It’s just that loose swimming shorts are considered unhygienic for indoor swimming pools. So he stands up and walks to the man who’s standing at the end of the kids’ pool with his back to Fannis.

“Yeah, there definitely was something growing in the corners there,” the guy laughs in his phone. Fannis takes a deep breath and taps him on his bare shoulder.

“I don’t know, the water looks kinda—,” the guy gives Fannis a quick look over his shoulder. “Hold on, Fetti,” he says to the person on the other end of the line and glances at Fannis over his shoulder, looking unistered. “Yeah?”

“Swimming shorts are not allowed here, sir,” Fannis says firmly, looking up at the guy, who he didn’t realise was so much taller than him until he has to keep lifting his gaze higher and higher to finally find his eyes. It was quite a ride, starting from the man’s collarbones and working its way past a strong jaw covered by a five o’clock shadow and well formed cheekbones.

Then again, everyone’s taller than Fannis, so he isn’t easily impressed.

“Hey, I’ll talk to you later, this shorty is nagging at me about whatever,” the guy chuckles and hangs up the phone. Then he seems to properly acknowledge Fannis’ presence for the first time. “Sorry, what was that?”

“No swimming shorts,” Fannis repeats and, to emphasize his order, points at a gallery of warning signs on the wall, including one of a man wearing flower-patterned shorts with a red cross drawn over it.

“Are you kidding me?” the guy laughs. “Oh, is this Candid Camera? I always wanted to be on that show,” he continues and looks around like he has already lost interest in the conversation, or is looking for a place to hang his towel.

“It’s unhygienic. Only skin-tight swimming suits are approved of,” Fannis tries his best to sound like an authority.

“Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“I am.” _And you’re as thick as you look_ , Fannis thinks. “It’s quite a common policy.”

“But these are my only ones!” the guy exclaims.

Fannis has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling as a wild thought crosses his mind.

“I think I can help you with that.”

 

* * *

 

Fannis is in luck to find the speedos right where he had thrown them earlier and that they weren’t touching the lump of unidentifiable dirt on the floor dangerously close to them. (He clicked his tongue in disapproval and would later scold Halvor of negligence.)

He is also in luck because the speedos are a perfect fit.

“Happy?” the guy asks as he walks back in the pool area. Passing Fannis, he stops and spins around like he’s on a catwalk. Fannis’ palms sweat.

“Yes. Except, umm..,” he says and rubs the back of his neck.

“Now what,” the guy’s face drops.

“Personal items should be left at the locker room.” Fannis nods towards the guy’s hands.

“What, I’m not allowed to bring my phone?”

“Ehhhh..,” Fannis frowns and glances at the towel the guy’s holding in his other hand.

“Not even the towel? What kinda spa is this?!”

 _The kind of spa that_ isn’t _actually a spa_ , Fannis wants to say, but instead he purses his lips together shrugs apologetically because _the customer is always right_.

“I don’t make these rules.”

“Fine, FINE,” the guy huffs and turns on his heels. “Just wanted to go for a bloody swim…”

Fannis really, _really_ tries not to watch the guy as he’s walking away from him, because he is not that kind of guy that watches the swimmers for other reasons than their own safety, as that would be unbelievably unprofessional and Fannis is the embodiment of professional, no matter what Halvor says (“ _Pffffffffft”_ ).

...but the speedos _really_ are a perfect fit.

 

* * *

 

The guy spends about half an hour paddling around in the end of the main pool not reserved for aqua running, humming to himself like he hasn’t got a worry in the world. Despite how hard Fannis tries to revive his earlier reveries, his eyes keep returning to the this stranger — the completely controlled movements of lean muscles, the drowsy eyes that remind Fannis of assorted chocolates, the faint smile on his smooth lips. It’s like watching an aquarium except there’s only one, ridiculously good-looking fish swimming in the bowl.

Fannis is —

“Fucked, dude. I’m fucked.”

Fannis flinches when Halvor, who he had not heard approaching him, slumps down next to him.

“Wanna know why Stöckl was here this morning?” Halvor asks while Fannis tries to collect this thoughts and hope his co-worker can’t hear the thumping of his heart that picks up when he sees the stranger get up from the water.

“Co-operation negotiations,” Halvor announces in the same tone of voice someone probably told the captain of Titanic that the ship was going to sink.

Fannis almost strains his neck because of how fast he turns his head to look at Halvor.

“What?! Are they sacking people?” Panic starts to build up in Fannis’ chest. He knows Slippy Seconds is not exactly the most successful indoor swimming pools in town and not a long time ago the bankruptcy of Fannis’ workplace due to a decreased number of customers would’ve been more than likely, had it not been for the recent (and quite embarrassing) shutdown of VikerSpa, a fancy resort nearby that was famous for its water slide advertised as “the longest in the world”. Still, one can’t ever be enough prepared for these kinds of news.

Halvor shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll just make some contracts part-time or something. Ugh, and I _JUST_ got full-time, fuck!” Halvor grunts in despair and buries his face in his hands.

“And I gotta pay the bills somehow,” Fannis says quietly. It’s not like he earned that much as a full-time employee either, and after the rent and other monthly expenditures, he’s not left with much.

“Oh, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, you’ve been here since, like, forever.”

Ironically, that’s _exactly_ what Fannis is worried about.

 _These are difficult decisions_ , they’ll say. _If we could, we’d keep all of you. But we must think about the future. It’s nothing personal._ They’ll smile reassuringly and promise to write him a letter of recommendation full of praise. _And please, if you could hond over the whistle, those things don’t grow on trees do they, heh heh._

Thinking about it brings a lump to his throat. He bats his eyes rapidly and looks around. The strange man in gone; he probably left while Fannis was picturing all the all the worst-case scenarios these negotiations would result in. The last glimmers of the hope that this would be a good day seem to have left along with the man.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Don’t take off your shoes, we’re going out,” Danny says before Fannis has the chance to close the door behind him. Fannis frowns and looks at this bedroom door longingly. _So much for a quiet evening of overthinking and panicking in the safe of his bedroom_.

“Where are we going?” Fannis sighs, although he’s not sure he even wants to hear.

“Nowhere,” growls Kenny’s voice from his room, and soon the limping man himself appears at the door frame.

The look on Danny’s face before he turns to look at Kenny says he’s ready for a fight, but Fannis isn’t exactly in the mood for being the referee once again tonight. Not after the day he’s had at work.

“It’s your turn to clean the bathroom,” Kenny says sternly.

“I’ll do it when I’m back,” Danny imitates Kenny’s tone of voice, which doesn’t make Kenny any more amused nor Fannis any more keen on staying in the same room with the two of them. “I thought you of all people would be happy to hear I have a job interview,” Danny tilts his head, and even though Danny is standing his back to Fannis, he knows exactly the kind of smile Danny is pulling, judging by the squint of Kenny’s eyes. Fannis assumes Danny uses the same face to tell his parents that he knows exactly what he’s doing with his time off uni.

“And you—,” Danny turns back to Fannis, “—are coming with me as a witness so that I can rightfully claim my one hundred when I get the job and win the bet.”

Fannis rolls his eyes, but Danny is already out the door before Fannis can object. Fannis and Kenny exchange a look they often do when they have a feeling Danny’s up to no good.

Fannis’ glances at Kenny’s hand rubbing his thigh and opens his mouth to say something but there’s now a different look on Kenny’s face, one that says _don’t_. So he doesn’t.

Outside, Danny is already skipping down the street and Fannis has to jog to keep up with him. They pass a few blocks until Danny makes a sharp turn and disappears inside a building Fannis doesn’t recall ever been to. Fannis rushes in to follow him and catches a short glimpse of a poster saying “ _Mr. Lederhosen, 11AM tonight_ ” but doesn’t have time to ponder who that might be, as he really isn’t going to let Danny out of his sight.

Inside, Fannis is surprised to find himself in a, large dim-lighted room with an empty floor surrounded by small, high tables and, at the other end of the room, a stage of some sort. On the right side there’s a counter and behind it a shelf full of different kinds of bottles. This is the final hint for Fannis: he’s in a bar.

“Hey, are you Danny? We’re ready for you,” a voice next to him asks. Fannis turns and is face-to-face with a guy about his age, wearing a friendly smile on his face.

“No, he's…” Fannis begins, until he realises he has no idea where his friend has gone. Did Danny even come in here, or was it the shady-looking dollar store next door?

Fannis looks around the bar until his eyes find a familiar blonde head. Danny’s leaning over the bar counter, talking to the bartender. Then Fannis realises the bartender looks familiar too.

It’s the guy from that morning.

A warmth erupts on Fannis’ cheeks and his head tells him to vanish from the place before the guy notices him and they start talking and Fannis’ blurts out something embarrassing like _nice ass_ — _GLASS! Nice glass_ because that is totally something that could and would happen to Fannis on a day like this. Unfortunately, his legs start walking after this other guy to where Danny is chatting away with the bartender.

“Danny? Hi, Markus, good to have you here. I was sent to get you, they’re waiting for us upstairs,” Markus babbles on and shakes Danny’s hand. For once Fannis is glad about his size as it allows him to hide from the bartender behind Markus, who’s just enough taller than him. He’s planning to tag along with the two to safety before the guy sees him, but it seems he’s already used up his share of luck for today, as he hears Markus say:

“Greggsy, keep Danny’s friend company, will you?” and with that he’s already gone with Danny at his heels.

The guy — _Greggsy_ — now looks at Fannis for the first time, and one corner of his mouth curves in a half a smile.

“Hi there.”

“Hey…again,” Fannis breathes. Greggsy’s shoulders start shaking.

“Wow, didn’t think you’d recognize me with a shirt on,” he smiles. “And you barely looked at my face. Tell me, is it in your job description to incessantly stare at the swimmers?,” he laughs and Fannis wants to _die_. The guy noticed him looking? Of course he did, subtlety has never been one of Fannis’ strong points, tragically.

Somehow, however, he manages to collect himself and think of a witty comeback to defend his honour.

“It kinda is, actually,” he says matter-of-factly, because it is. _No exaggeration_ . “That’s how you prevent any possible accidents. You gotta stay alert all the time.”  On a whim, he flashes Greggsy a shy smile in an attempt to appear innocent, and immediately regrets it, because the raise of Greggsy’s eyebrows reveals he probably took it as _flirting_ , and right now Fannis is too busy wanting the earth to swallow him to figure out whether it’s a good or a bad thing.

“Well, in that case the entire water running class would’ve drowned on your watch,” Greggsy says chuckling. Fannis’ face feels so hot that if you threw some butter on it you could fry a steak on his cheeks.

Greggsy probably notices his embarrassment as he continues:

“It’s cool though, I’m flattered,” he says and winks.

  
_Danny better get that bloody job_.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

~*~ OUTRO ~*~

 

The creases on Kenny’s forehead deepen when Danny tells him the news.

“They hired you as a _what_ now?”

“A performing artist,” Danny says proudly and goes back to scrubbing the walls of the toilet bowl with great determination. “I’m ready to collect my wins whenever,” he continues and looks up, cheerful eyes twinkling. Kenny looks at Fannis questioningly, expecting him to provide a translation, but Fannis sees it better to retreat and let Danny explain the whole thing himself.

“A performing artist in what exactly,” Kenny demands to know when Fannis refuses to return his gaze.

Danny thinks for a few seconds before replying:

“Dancing.”

Kenny throws another suspicious look at Fannis, who is counting the boards on the ceiling.

“And what was the name of the place again?”

“Uhhhhh… You know the place a few blocks from here? Next to that grocery store?”

“The undertaker’s?!” Kenny asks, scandalized, and now Fannis is looking away to hide his amusement because he’s imagining a mortician doing a sacred burial dance in front of a cold corpse.

“Ah, no, the umm… On the _other_ side of the grocery store. Magic...something,” Danny mumbles.

Kenny obviously has no memory of such a place as he turns back to Fannis looking even more puzzled. Fannis observes his nails.

Kenny shakes his head and takes out his phone as his last lifeline. Fannis looks over Kenny’s shoulder as he finds the place on Google Maps.

“Magic Daddy?” Kenny reads the name of the business located in that address. Danny and Fannis communicate a silent _uh-oh_ with their eyes. On the way back home, when Danny had explained to him what his new job is and how it may be best to conceal the truth from Kenny, at least for some time, and Fannis had agreed. He now realises this plan was foolish to begin with, because 1) Kenny has become an expert in calling their bullshit, and 2) if Kenny wants to find out the truth about something, he _will_.

“What the..,” Kenny says as he scrolls down on his phone screen. Then, when he seems to have seen enough, he puts away his phone, closes his eyes and rubs them tiredly.

“He’s a stripper, isn’t he.”

And Fannis can’t say _no_ because, well, that’s what he is.

“Technically yes BUT! What’s more important, I’m an EMPLOYED stripper,” Danny says, pointing a toilet brush at Kenny. “So get your wallet out. A bet is a bet.”

They stare at each other hard in the eye, and Fannis holds his breath in anticipation of what’s going to happen. Then Kenny rushes out of the bathroom and moments later returns with two wrinkled fifties, slams them on the bathroom counter and disappears into his room with a slam of the door. Danny pockets the money and goes back to his chores with careless whistling.

Fannis contemplates going to talk to Kenny about...he’s not exactly sure what. He decides to schedule it for later, however, because he’s had quite a day himself and ready to finally crawl in his bed and try to understand even half of the things that happened to him today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, I came up with the name of the swimming pools myself, thank you, I'm very proud of it.  
> 2\. I'm not saying Stöckl is old but did you notice how grey his hair looked in [these](https://www.skiforbundet.no/contentassets/80cb5383fcee4424a40a88da27af1eb2/hopplandslaget.jpg) pictures? I guess time stops for no one. What I _am_ saying that I too would age about 20 years every day if I had to coach Team Norway.  
>  3\. I know rentable swimwear sounds disgusting but I swear it's a thing. Not that _I_ would ever rent a swimsuit, but sometimes you have no choice I guess.  
>  4\. Does anyone's shower work in this AU?! (lol, I just needed an excuse for Greggsy to visit the place as not-a-regular customer. Or maybe he doesn't have one? My apartment didn't use to have a shower before it was remodelled, was a right pain.)  
> 5\. A surprise Fannis/Greggsy? I don't even know myself, I just got inspired by some posts I saw on Tumblr and the next thing I know, this happened. Haven't decided where this is going either, if anywhere.  
> 6\. Magic Daddy (first mentioned in Michi's chapter) was originally a working title for the club/bar but I never came up with a new one, so... Magic Daddy it is.


	15. The One With The (Almost) Divorce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraftböck - a match made in heaven..or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back, back again..
> 
> Told you I wouldn't abandon this story! I thank you for your patience and hope you enjoy the new addition. It's fluffy and silly and utterly pointless with a teeeeeeeeeny weeny beeny bit of angst in there somewhere. 
> 
> Betaed once again by my beloved [Anfield_rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anfield_rose), thanks a bunch! I am unofficially the world's worst proof-reader (you should see the abstract of my MA thesis..yikes) so please forgive me for any remaining typos.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a piece of fiction and does not represent the author's views on football in any way (in fact, the author feels quite indifferent about the sport).

A calm, comforting stillness surrounds Michi and Krafti as they lie side by side. Soft fingers are drawing patterns on warm skin, sleepy eyes slowly closing and opening again, as if afraid the sight before them will suddenly vanish like a dream. But no, there it was, as it had been for five years.

One a freshman in university, the other an aircraft engineer in the making, they had met at a gym, of all places. One would not usually describe gymnastics a place of flaming romance but rather of sweating and stinking; however, for Michi and Krafti it has always meant pushing and cheering each other on, celebrating new personal records together as well as helping each other back up again after a loss of motivation. It started with secret glances and shy smiles across the room, evolved into encouraging comments and giving a helpful hand in case of a fallen towel or handling the equipment. Eventually they would start choosing treadmills next to each other so that they could continue the conversations started in the locker room, and follow each other like shadows from one machine to the next. It all had escalated one particularly quiet Friday evening just before Easter when they had been the only ones left in the showers at closing time. The guard in the evening shift had regretted turning down the early retirement offer he had been given the month before.

Fast forward to the present, they have been married since last February, headed to a secret, wintery location in northern Europe for their honeymoon, and share an apartment with a bedroom where fun was guaranteed and a bathroom big enough for their jacuzzi (they knew it was meant to be when they found out they own identical hot tubs, and the argument about which one they should keep when they were moving in together was one of the few they’ve had so far). There was no place on earth they’d rather spend a Sunday evening.

The only downside was that they had not yet had the opportunity to invest in any watchable sports channels.

Unlike one of their neighbours downstairs.

“There’s football on tonight” Michi sighs as if absent-mindedly, lost in the fantasy of being able to plop down on his own sofa and turn on his own TV and there’d be football there and he would be the one choosing which game to watch. ( _“If you hate it so much then why not just stay home, huh?”_ had Krafti once snapped. _“Because, my dear, even bad football is better than no football at all.”_ Besides the Great Hot Tub Argument, football was another topic Michi and Krafti try to stay away from in order to avoid premature divorce.)

“Mmmmhh?” Krafti hums sleepily, eyes now closed.

“Champions League final. Wanna go?” Michi asks and reaches his hand to bury his fingers in his husband’s hair. Krafti’s lips curve in a content smile, but his eyes remain closed.

“It’s Liverpool.” Krafti answers and snuggles closer to Michi’s wide chest. Krafti feels soft and warm against his torso, and a soft breeze brushes Krafti’s hair as Michi lets out a long, dreamy sigh. _I knew I married you for a reason_ , he thinks. The guy might be a München fan, but at least he has some dignity and knows that even bad football is better than no football at all.. _._ unless it’s _Liverpool_.

“Dinner, then?”

“Dinner,” Krafti whispers against Michi’s bare skin with a little more lip and tongue action that is usually required in pronouncing the word and giggles when he feels Michi’s skin heat up. He sits up straddling Michi and reaches a hand to feel his own lower back, grimacing.

“That was fun, love, but-”

“But not as fun as leading on all those girls at the gym?” Michi pulls himself up, arms supporting his upper body as he faces Krafti with a raised eyebrow and his mouth a stern line.  

Krafti blinks in amused surprise. “Sorry?”

“Don’t pretend you never notice I’m there,” Michi mumbles and turns his face away. He hears a breathy laugh escape Krafti’s mouth and bites his inner lip. There is, however, no sound of amusement in Krafti’s voice when he speaks.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” he says under his breath. “First of all, I do not lead anyone on, and _you know that_ .” Michi rolls his eyes as Krafti pokes him on the chest. “Second, since you seem to be so sure I’m just _“leading them on”_ ”, Krafti gestures the air quotes with his fingers, “then why do you let yourself get jealous?”

 _Because_ , Michi wants to say, _have you seen yourself in the mirror? Have you seen the way they look at you? And have you seen_ them _, all soft curves and silky hair and long eyelashes and all of them being so very much like_ her.

_Because it makes my vivid imagination bring out the worst in me and have me wondering; what do those girls have that I don’t? Well, just about everything. And it’s all downhill from there._

_Because I would never do that to you_.

But Michi stays silent until he can taste the blood oozing from his lip. Finally, with the lack of better ways to express his thoughts, he says faintly: “You’re cute. And people like you.

Krafti leads forward to almost touch Michi’s nose with his, forcing him to look back up to him.

“But I like _you_ ,” Krafti whispers, and though Michi has heard those words, and more, come out of Krafti’s mouth countless times, they still fill his chest with an inexplicable feeling. He allows this feeling to take control of his lips in form of a smile he hopes lets Krafti know what he’s thinking: _I believe you_.

It seems to have worked, as Krafti’s face lights up in a satisfied smirk ( _this smug little shit_ ) until it breaks into a wince at the sound of his spine cracking in mid-stretch.

“Anyway, what I was going to say,” Krafti begins, referring to his previously interrupted thought, “is that this was fun, but next time we really should try to make it to the bed, don’t you think?”

Michi squints his eyes and gets up, but only to push giggling Krafti back on the floor.

 

-

 

Monday morning invites them to their easy routine: brushing their teeth side by side, sharing the newspaper, soft smiles over coffee cups. For them it isn’t about grand gestures, romantic dinners or loud declarations of love; it’s the small, daily moments like this that make Krafti wonder how he ever allowed Michi to doubt their love. Fair enough, Krafti does occasionally take joy in flirting with other people when they’re out and about to spice it up a little in the bedroom later, but he would never do it to deliberately hurt Michi or lead him to believe Krafti wasn’t in this for real. Never _ever_.

In none of his previous relationships — some of them quite serious too — had Krafti ever really given much thought to the future beyond the next two-or-so weeks. Never before had he imagined spending forever with the other, sitting on the back porch with fifteen grandchildren running along their yard. But with Michi? It was not even about growing old together. Hell, Krafti had every intention to reincarnate and find Michi again in the next life, even if he was a dirty earthworm and Michi a common sparrow. That’s how real Krafti is in this for.

He does, nevertheless, take shame having Michi think he wasn’t, and so decides it’s about time they take their marriage to a new level, or, if not that, then at least make Michi see just how serious he is about the two of them.

 “I’ve been thinking,” Krafti grins and folds the newspaper to put it aside, “I want a baby.”

It takes all of Krafti’s willpower to not burst in mischievous laugh when the coffee Michi had just sipped from his shark head shaped mug squirts all over the sports pages.

“A..a what?” he stutters with coffee dripping down his chin. _Ha, in your face!_  

“Why not? It’s not like we’re getting any younger, right?” Krafti winks and it seems all the colour has escaped Michi’s face.

“But..huh?” he says helplessly, and as fun as it is to see the panic of supposed parenthood unfold in his husband ( _“Convinced now, my love?”_ he asks Michi later that night), he doesn’t have the heart to torture him much longer.

“Yeah, you know, one of them..soft and furry ones?” he smiles innocently and giggles when Michi sighs in relief. Krafti melts at the sight of Michi’s eyes twinkling with the smile fighting its way back to Michi’s lips. He clears his throat and goes back to the newspaper, ignoring the wet splotches of coffee on it.

“And did you have any particular type in mind?”

Krafti shrugs.

“My family had a white one when I was a kid. We called her Wendy,” he smiles fondly as he remembers his childhood companion, how smooth her hair had been and how calmly she had been lying on the bed next to him while he did his homework after school. After her passing at the ripe age of twelve, Krafti has been waiting for the right moment in his life to get one of his own, one that would be just as fluffy and lovable as his beloved Wendy and curl up on his stomach for him to pet on the couch (alongside Michi).

Sure enough, Krafti has counted his chickens before they hatched.

 “I’ve always wanted a German Shepherd,” Michi says before taking a calm sip from his mug.

All of Krafti’s feline daydreams come crumbling down like the breakfast toast on this plate.

“You...want a dog.” He intends it to be a question, but it’s obvious from the face Michi makes that what came out was a disappointed remark.

“Don’t you?” Michi asks cautiously. “I mean, didn’t you just say—”

“I want a cat.”

An awkward silence fills their kitchen.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

“Wow. Umm.” Michi scratches his head. “Are you sure? You know, it doesn’t have to be a Ger—”

“No, I want a cat,” Krafti says confidently because he _is_ sure. Don’t get him wrong; he doesn’t _mind_ dogs, but he’s seen enough of them on the street and at his neighbour’s downstairs (bouncy, drooling, barking, peeing on the floor, destroying things when left alone) to know he doesn’t want one living under his roof, especially when he could have something as harmless and low-maintenance as a cat (cleans itself, is silent, does its doodies in the litter box, minds its own business).

“But cats are..mean,” Michi says, forehead wrinkled. Krafti gives a scornful laugh.

“When has a cat ever been mean to you?”

“Funny you ask, one almost ripped my eye out once when I was a child,” Michi replies and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Well, you probably deserved it,” Krafti fires back and mimics Michi’s pose.

“What about you? What’s wrong with dogs, huh?” Michi demands to know.

“Nothing! I just don’t want one in my apartment, is all. It’s messy as it is.” _Much like this whole damn situation I got myself into_ , he thinks.

“Oh, so you’re saying dogs are messy? Is that it? Let me tell you what: dogs are just as messy as you let them be.”

“Listen, can we just—”

“Cats, on the other hand? Those creepy little fucks don’t give a damn how expensive the wine glass they just knocked down from the table was. They don’t even try. My great grandma’s cat once pushed her late husband’s urn off the mantelpiece once. His ashes still whirl around when you walk on that carpet!”

Krafti understands this outburst is supposed to be a counterargument against his stance on dogs, but it just makes him love cats even more. However, he feels like Michi wouldn’t see the humour in it, so he wipes the hints of amusement off his face and calls a truce, as the time on the clock says they better get going soon or else they’ll be late for their daily pursuits.

“We don’t have to have this discussion now, okay? We’re gonna be late,” he says and stands up. Michi mutters something about _barfing on the carpet_ and _bringing dead birds in bed_ and _can’t believe I married a cat-lover_ , clearly not ready to drop the subject, but nevertheless follows his example.

 

-

 

The elevator stops on the floor below theirs, and in step a shower-fresh Johann rummaging in his backpack, a yawning Danny, drained-looking Fannis, and Andi with his nose almost touching the screen of his phone.

“Morning,” they say in a dull choir.

“Morning,” Krafti replies with a faint smile.

“We’re getting a divorce,” Michi announces. Krafti rolls his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Johann says absentmindedly to his backpack. Danny yawns again. Andi doesn’t so much as lift his gaze from his phone. The only one who seems to have acknowledged Michi’s declaration is Fannis who frowns with genuine concern shining on his face.

“What?! Really? Why?”

“No, we’re not,” Krafti reassures him, but Michi goes on:

“Because Krafti hates dogs,” he says with a stern voice. This wakes up the rest of the co-passengers to join the discussion.

“I don’t ha—”

“Why do you hate dogs?” Johann asks, offended, like one would ask “ _why would you say that about my mother?_ ”

“I’m trying to tell you, I don’t hate dogs!” Krafti exclaims.

“How does anyone hate dogs?” Andi chirps in, looking like he has lost all hope in humanity (or at least in Krafti).

“Just because I prefer cats—”

“He _prefers_ cats,” Michi mocks him, and Johann shakes his head. Krafti scowls at them, before continuing:

“—doesn’t mean I hate dogs, okay? Those things are not exclusive.”

“But you wouldn’t have one as a pet,” Michi points out.

“Neither would you a cat, would you now?” Krafti fires back.

“Touché,” Danny smirks from his corner of the elevator, earning a thankful glance from Krafti, a hateful from Michi.

“You’re getting a pet?” Andi asks.

“Apparently not,” Michi growls and Krafti can’t believe he married a stubborn idiot.

“Does it have to be either? Why not a hamster? Or a guinea pig?” Fannis, ever the peacemaker, offers.

“Meh, too small,” Michi says and Krafti nods, happy that they seem to be agreeing on something for once.

“A lizard?” Andi suggests.

“Too impersonal.”

“A horse!”

“Too..posh? Christ, Danny, who do you think we are?”

“A ferret?” It’s Johann’s time to join the pet roulette.

“Ugh, too hipstery,” Michi decides and Krafti can’t help but burst in laughter. He sees a smile dancing on Michi’s lips too and suddenly Krafti can’t remember what he thought he’d need a cat for when he has everything the could ever wish for in Michi.

“But how do you feel about llamas,” Michi says under his breath as they step out the elevator on the street floor. Krafti lets out another hearty giggle and grabs Michi’s hand in his.

 

 _I think we’re gonna be fine_ _just the two of us_.

  


.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

~*~ OUTRO ~*~

  


Krafti’s whole body feels tired as he finally slouches to their apartment door. He loves his job alright, but there are days he can’t quite match his usual energy levels, leaving him exhausted and unsatisfied. Whether or not the little quarrel with Michi had something to do with it (even if it was seemingly resolved before they parted ways), he can’t tell. Still, he wouldn’t mind if Michi would not bring up the subject tonight. He certainly wasn’t going to — he has learnt his lesson.

Inside the apartment, Krafti is welcomed with the smell of self-made curry, Michi’s speciality, and he is _certain_ the Pet Gate is closed, for the time being, because as petty as Michi can sometimes be, he will not ruin a curry dinner with a childish argument over trivial matters.

“Hey,” Krafti whispers as he wraps his arms around Michi from behind and takes in his familiar scent, which alone restores his strength to almost full extent.

“Hey,” Michi’s voice is soft and calm, far from the accusing, hostile tones from the early morning. Krafti nuzzles against the back of Michi’s neck and just stays there until Michi has to make them move so he can get the salad out of the fridge.

A calm, comforting stillness surrounds them as they dine together, every now and then stopping to smile at each other for absolutely no reason other than being so ridiculously smitten with one another. They drive each other crazy on a daily basis, yes, but at the end of the day there’s no other person in the universe they’d rather be sitting and eating curry with, and no pet (or lack of one) could change that one way or the other.

“Your turn to do the laundry tonight, isn’t it?” Michi recalls afterwards as he’s filling the dishwasher. Krafti groans.

“It’s nine thirty!” he pouts.

“Yes, and there’s a shirt I need for tomorrow, so off you go.”

“You have lots of shirts..” Krafti sighs and stretches in an effort to look as tired (and cuddly) as possible as he plops down on the sofa.

“But I want this one,” Michi insists. Krafti lefts out a puff and drags his feet to the bathroom like a teenager whose mother has just told him to, well, do the laundry.

He crouches by the laundry basket with the intention of beginning to sort it into dark and light colours but stops as he notices an unfamiliar object on top of the clothes pile.

It’s a small, round ball with two smaller half-circles made of felt attached to the top, two black dots placed symmetrically below the half-circles and a shirt string hanging from the other side of the ball. From what Krafti can tell, it’s clearly supposed to resemble a mouse.

He takes the object in his hand and carefully squeezes it. It squeaks.

Krafti smiles. _Yeah, we’re definitely gonna be fine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The llama reference was inspired by [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BlS0khwDlRT/). Very silly and pointless, as promised.


End file.
